The
Town
The town where I was known
when I was young had a huge
metal archway at the entrance
to the civic gardens. In spring
it was covered all over with sweet
sweeping wisteria. At the end
of the main street there was a railway
station and an avenue of green trees
that the steam engines passed
under. There were, too, vents
in the ground that billowed
with sulphurous steam and gases,
sudden fountains of boiling
water erupting from the footpaths,
yes, it was an unusual place
but I could have sworn it gentle.
But now when I return, people
who stayed on in the town
want to tell me about a girl
they once knew who they swear
was a wild one. She would go
to forbidden dance halls,
hitchhike at midnight in order
to jive, hang out in seedy dives
drinking Pimms with unsuitable
men and skinny dip in hot pools
at the
drop of a skirt. (Well, I do
remember
something of a night
when I
kissed a boy under a hot
waterfall
so perhaps we had
something
in common). For
the
most part the descriptions
of this
girl are the history
of
someone I might have come across,
glimpsed
from the corner of my eye
as I
studiously read serious books,
and
observed, now and then,
the
picturesque landscape. It is possible
this
girl had a double
life,
but I wouldn't recognise
her if
I met her now. What I can tell
you is
that that girl left town.
Fiona Kidman
I think
I have met this girl Fiona writes about. I know the town. And I know
that that (love the emphasis of the double that) girl left that town.
When I
am reading a literary journal I am always on the qui vive for a poem
that - by some prodigy of technique, or with a preternatural
narrative ease, or because underground forces are at work that cannot
be denied - gives me a good going over. I tap out. I submit. I even
laugh a little. Well, that was a poem and a half – I say to myself.
And then I email the poet and ask – Please may I post your poem on
my Tuesday Poem blog? (Share the joy around, right?)
Fiona
answered promptly and gave me permission to post. I enquired if the
poem was to be in a forthcoming book – and it is. Due soon it
appears, as I google. This Change in the Light
from Godwit.
And JAAM (just
another art movement) in which the poem appeared, is a mag I always
like to be in, and that I always like to get in the post and sit down and
read, because it is fresh and smart and knowing, with a well
odd kick in its gallop.
