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Aspects

Of Poetry

Aspects Of Poetry

A Selection of Poetry and Prose

 

ISBN: 9780-9545017-9-2    174 pages     size 240 x 170    £7.99    (2018)  

Amazon Kindle (Revised Version)     $2.99     (2017)

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​(The E Book edition first appeared as Poetry In Motion)

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Click on the front cover to go to the Book Shop, or on the back cover to go to Kindle and purchase the e-book.

Contents

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An Introduction

 

Of Youth

 

The Earthly Womb (of birth)                                      J.B. Smart

The Journey from School and to School                 C. Lamb

An Accidental Incident                                              J.B. Smart

 

Of Love

 

To Althea, from Prison                                               R. Lovelace

An Evening’s Love (from a play)                              J. Dryden

She Walks in Beauty                                                 G. Byron

Ode to a Nightingale                                                 J. Keats

Oh, come to me in dreams, my love                       M. Shelley

Maud and Other Poems                                           A. Tennyson

Somewhere I have never travelled                         E. Cummings

Analogy of a Flower                                                  J.B. Smart

The Wings of Love                                                    J.B. Smart

Generations of the Field                                           J.B. Smart

Eternal Meadowlands                                               J.B. Smart

Butterfly under a Rainbow                                        J.B. Smart

The Absentee Girlfriend                                           J.B. Smart

 

Of War

 

Old Vicarage, Grantchester                                      R. Brooke

The Soldier                                                                  R. Brooke

For the Fallen                                                              L. Binyon

Trench Memories                                                        J.B. Smart

 

Of History

 

Ozymandias (King of Kings)                                     P.B. Shelley

A Walk in Our History (National Narrative)              J.B. Smart

Northumberland the Brave                                       J.B. Smart

A New Renaissance                                                  J.B. Smart

The Deserted Village                                                 O. Goldsmith

The Mask of Anarchy                                                 P.B. Shelley

The Charge of the Light Brigade                              A. Tennyson

Oh Star Spangled Banner (E Pluribus Unum)         A. Pember

Oh Silvery Sea of Wight (Tay Bridge)                       J.B. Smart

 

Of Literature

 

On first looking into Chapman’s Homer                   J. Keats

The Miller’s Tale, Canterbury Tales                           G. Chaucer

The Scavenger’s Tale, New Canterbury Tales         J.B. Smart

Little Gidding, The Four Quartets                              T.S. Eliot

Aspects of the Poem                                                  J.B. Smart

A Synonym with Meaning                                          J.B. Smart

 

Of Travel

 

Travel (A Child’s Garden of Verses)                         R. Stevenson

Kubla Khan (Vision in a Dream)                               S. Coleridge

An Erie Canawller                                                      J.B. Smart

Parlais Vous Anglais?                                                J.B. Smart

The Sorrows of Goethe                                             J.B. Smart

A Prospector’s Canadian Gold                                 J.B. Smart

Camping versus Tramping                                       J.B. Smart

A Great Haka Challenge (Ka Mate)                         J.B. Smart

 

Of Specialities

 

A Traditional Haiku                                                     M. Bashu

Modern Haiku; Essence of Japan                            J.B. Smart

Amazing Grace (How Sweet the Sound)                 J. Newton

And Did Those Feet (The New Jerusalem)             W. Blake

In the Bleak Midwinter                                               C. Rossetti

The Woodpecker's Woes                                         J.B. Smart

The Beautiful Game (Soccerundus)                        J.B. Smart

Who Has the Idol?                                                     J.B. Smart

 

Of Heaven

 

In Memoriam                                                              A. Tennyson

Requiem                                                                     R. Stevenson

Stop All the Clocks                                                    W.H. Auden

Resurrection                                                              J.B. Smart

An Introduction

 

There are poets, and then there are writers, and then there are academics. Authors of great renown usually fall into one category or the other, in the same way that Titian and Canaletto could not be confused with Constable or Turner, or in more recent times with either Dali or Picasso. These genre paintings as with pre-eminent literature have a distinctive style of their own, imposed by artistic dictates of their age, and their creators would no more indulge in the other than an elephant would follow a monkey up a tree!

  Of course, breaking writing down into just three main categories is an over simplification, since there are several distinct forms including play-writing, literary fiction (without any real plot), science fiction, other-worldly fantasy, historical narrative, children’s books and journalism. However, if you aspire to make any kind of mark in the literary world that is not just sensational success, you should try fiction, non-fiction and of course - poetry.

  For inspiration in this regard there is no better place than Freshwater Bay with its stunning scenery and history of artistic residents. In the same way that artists were attracted to St. Ives, Cornwall there was a large gathering of renowned Victorians on the Isle of Wight. Alfred Tennyson was made Poet Laureate after the death of Wordsworth in 1850 and moved to Farringford five years later, then Julia Margaret Cameron the pioneer photographer came to Dimbola in 1860, whilst Anne Thackeray Ritchie spent summers there by the bay, and G.F. Watts the painter resided at The Briary.

  Other visitors were Rev. Charles Dodgson (Lewis Carroll) who received inspiration for Alice there, Robert Browning, Ellen Terry, Charles Darwin, William Thackeray, John Ruskin, John Millais and Thomas Carlyle. Virginia Woolf the great niece of Cameron satirised this cultural circle in Freshwater a play in 1935, but many still came including T.S. Eliot (on honeymoon), J.B. Priestley (who lived at Brook Hill House nearby), Henry Longfellow, D.H. Lawrence, George Bernard Shaw, John Betjeman and W.H. Auden.

  The author’s first attempts at poetry came at school followed by a number of pieces examining issues of un-requited love, the natural environment, and (like Goldsmith) loss of more innocent agrarian societies. These were all written in London but a move to Freshwater opened new creative doors, after learning of Cameron, Tennyson and their compatriots, and research for the historical books by the author provided some fresh political insights. It appears a truism that the Victorian gentlemen’s education made its students polymaths, but today’s curriculum exam-based method is found wanting.

  Only those at the “Everest” pinnacle of the education system who attend Oxford or Cambridge Universities (revealing their fine talents on University Challenge), can in any way aspire to the skills of these Victorians in so many fields. The average student who labours on Government-based exams will find they emerge from the education process with only a morsel of English, European and World history or knowledge of various fields. These short-sighted objectives by the Government to provide workers of economic use mean the student misses a greater enlightenment, and going backwards, they know less than their counterparts from history - despite straights “A”s.

  The knowledge that was gleaned from writing historical books and travel involved in its research; then led to an insatiable desire for more travel and contemporary experiences - in an attempt to belatedly catch up with these well-informed learned students from history, the product of a more inspired pedagogy. An appreciation of their writing or poetry, and travel in Europe, America and Australasia, gave further inspiration for the later poems, which were written especially for this book from such experiences or ideas. These are inter-twined with great works from history that likewise inspired.

  The resulting work seems quite satisfactory and there is but one complaint. The five day week, so engrained on Western Society, is often insufficient to the author since it breaks the creative flow, and legislation should be passed to make a ten day week without the weekend’s most irritating interruption. Of course, once this was introduced and imposed by the State, the writer would be obliged to do a piece on how the five day week was far better, that it was much fairer, and that the Government opposed the will of the people by bringing in such unfair legislation against their express wishes!

 

                                                                        John Blythe Smart

Ozymandius

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I met a traveller from an antique land,

Who said, "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert....... Near them, on the sand

Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed

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And on the pedestal these words appear:

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair

Nothing beside remains, round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away."

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(Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1818)

Trench Memories

 

​In England’s green and pleasant land, of villages

From Clovelly in Devon’s lanes to Hever Castle’s tales

From Worth Matravers up to Grasmere’s daffodils

With thundering furnaces in the towns and vales

 

Around the church and abbey stood archaic memorials

Their lichen, limestone, encrusted words in perpetuity

As steeples stood sentinel above with clear ringing bells

Unchanging as a Roman road or the Bible’s security

 

Forewarned by Wilhelm and his spa-side Ems dispatch

That sparked Bismarck’s pre-emptive Franco-Prussian war

One man’s demise, when Ferdinand let off the carriage latch

Caused the death of millions, pointlessly, on Europe’s soil

 

With Governmental allies and ministers in a decided fix

And Kitchener risen high on the shoulders of Khartoum

His finger points at you; your country needs you - up by six

So khaki-clothed civilians are transported out their womb

 

With camaraderie, and brotherhood, and gung ho thoughts

The train arrives (too soon) at Ypres, close to the killing fields

And villages that formerly remained in memory of nought

Are seared upon our consciousness, as the tragedy is revealed

 

From Marne, to Jutland, to Gallipoli, and the trenches of Verdun

From Beaumont Hamel and Pozières up onto the Vimy Ridge

Reckless assaults up hill at Serre with shrapnel shelling in the air

Dogfights at Arras and elsewhere, more men to build a bridge!

 

A noisome sound, fear fills the air, with bloody bodies everywhere

The mud it oozes like the moor, stripped down trees fall into the mire

Land ironclads crawl like a snail; both man and horse begin to fail

The Somme and Passchendaele cry out in agony, “a Cease Fire now!”

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Within the call of Britain’s bugle - sonny went off to war

And in the muck and bullets, the fear was firmly rapped

To loved ones very far away, a sole white dove did soar

But trenchant bloody shells, not home for you old chap

 

On the eleventh hour of similar day in autumnal air most fair

The carnage finally ceased, and some bruised and battered men

With bodies and minds now tarnished, beyond all safe repair

They crossed the Channel everywhere, to Blighty and Big Ben

 

A Treaty at Versailles in opulent surrounds, clear and mirror full

Perhaps would provide transparency, securing a fruitful peace

But punitive and economic bad redress; left the Kaiser in a mess

Thus any Jazz Age Charleston happiness was only lent on lease

 

European landscapes changed forever, as Thiepval now foretells

New memorials at Clovelly, Hever, Worth and Grasmere’s fine lee

With khaki hat and rifle point, their counterpart the Prussian cap

But of the Thankful, Blessed villages, there are just “fifty three”

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(John Blythe Smart, 2009 and 2017)

Parlais Vous Anglais?

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We pack our bags with creamy amber eh soleil

And down to Dover, to queue up for the traversier

Across the Channel neath the gleaming cliffs

Through French customs, but "parlais vous Anglais?"

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Out on the Autoroute, but please keep to the right

Is this the way or is it that, and so finally from Calais

Racing at 120 k, a thundering juggernaut takes fright

A stop for petrol or baguette, but "parlais vous Anglais?"

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Along the coast and once unto the breach at Agincourt

Then to the Gothic pinnacles of Amiens and Beauvais

Past Caen, Rouen and fortified Gaillard of Lion Heart

And to the gîte or campsite, but  "parlais vous Anglais?"

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Down to Paris, with its arrondissement and boulevards

Footsore we travel to the Eiffel, Louvre and Tuileries

Out to Versailles, up to Montmartre for a fine postcard

Resting late at Notre Dame, but "parlais vous Anglais?"

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And so to Brittany of winding lanes and village streets

A walk across the sands to St. Michel, a miracle to say

Cross country at a pace to find the rocks of Carnac sweet

Night-time revers at our hôtel, but "parlais vous Anglais?"

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To seek some solace from the busy crowds of Poitiers

We plan a mountain escape while tasting crème brûlée

Labouring up the Puy de Mary or Sancy with much affray

And by train to Puy de Dôme, but "parlais vous Anglais?"

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Grand chateaus beside the Loire are quite a sight to see

With Chinon Castle and Fontevraud not too far away

The parterres of Chambord, Chenonceau and Villandry

Combien how much to look, but "parlais vous Anglais?"

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We travel up the autoroute past Rheims and Chartres fair

Taking with us memories of cathedrals and castles gay

Bon appétit and bon voyage our memories we share

A French official bids farewell, but "parlais vous Francais!"

 

(John Blythe Smart, 2017)

An Erie Canawller

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It was a fine day in upstate New York when Pember came to town

With his polished valise and reporter’s pad wearing a pressed silk gown

He stayed the night at the Delavan in Albany, its plush décor and fans

Captain Spoor said “Damn me, Well” on seeing his lily white hands

A weigh-lock basin at Watervliet allowed access in from the Hudson

Saving five miles up from Albany, under tug-power they arrived soon

Across the way was Troy, named for the home of Priam and fair Helen

But now with its foundries, and stoves, and Bessemer mills, and linen

 

There was no time for industry; Captain Lamoreux blew up his horn

Into the Sixteens they went with trepidation amongst the fields of corn

Sixteen locks they had to climb, like Caen, with canal boats all asunder

Two horses fell in when a railroad engineer, his steam, he made a blunder

The Admiral it was pulled along at snail-like pace of two miles an hour

Its heavy-laden cargo of stove and fire bricks, horses snorted for power

At last Cohoes and Harmony Mills; like Arkwright’s Cromford brick

A great cathedral to manufacturing, spinning its lace-work so quick

 

Just beyond this ‘Mastodon’ mill were the Mohawk Falls, such beauty

Its spray producing myriads of scattered diamonds, a real wonder to see

A short way forth they reached the Half Moon with its Lower Aqueduct

Veils of water like golden lace in the sunset drained down off its parapet

A supper as they slowly crossed, then the night-time spent at Crescent

Today the river scene is little changed, but just a few canal stones present

At four-thirty they all rose for work, a canawllers life is tough and harsh

To the Upper Aqueduct at Rexford, now part of a leisurely country park

 

To the west, Schenectady - “Crewe of America,” with its steaming engines

The countryside, an Elysian scene, with wives and children in contentment

All the family helped on board and at dusk bow-lights illuminated the rill

And on the fourth morning, came Port Jackson with its Amsterdam mills

The Mohawk it was straight and true with Sweet’s Store to feed the crew

It stands today with its stone clad walls, a brick façade, and open doors

They asked a boat of “Buffalo” about spring-time ice and tonnage rates

Then Little Falls and Ilion with cotton mills, aqueducts and powered gates

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Sabbath was an anathema, as the Frankfort church-goers paint a picture

But canal life it doth never stop, and children knew not of the scripture

Groggeries they hung around in packs whilst groceries sold patent pills

And Captain Spoor, could “barely say,” how a measles cure made him ill

Past Ilion the home to Remington and Utica with its great cotton mills

On the sixth day Rome, the eternal city, with a carry the Indian did thrill

Fort Stanwix the Europeans built and the Erie Canal to make their trade

Then the long, lockless stretch to Lodi below Lake Oneida as in a parade

 

At Syracuse they stopped for freight below the Banks where money grew

This city built on “salt” of all varieties, with drying pans at Liverpool anew

And to the north a branch canal making Oswego Starch beside the lake

Then from the collector’s office to Peru and Centreport, the halfway place

A desolate scene beheld the eyes on crossing banks at Montezuma Marsh

And Pember mused how Mark Tapley would smile and wish them harsh

At Newark they were held right up and rested, a lock jam put to rights

Then Palmyra of the New World and Macedon, but not a Greek in sight

 

An embankment at Bushnell near Fairport came to Cartersville, quite late

After Brighton (without its sea) there was Rochester to unload some freight

Rochester, the flour capital, with its crashing waters of the Genesee Falls

Has its aqueduct, with a modern road above, like the Pont du Gard so tall

The Long Level with scarce a lock passed Spencerport and Adams Basin

Thus Pember led the horses, trudging on at length in the mud to aid them

Unwisely, he took a stance with the towline round his legs, a Circus poster

And the horses bolted, the rope it jerked, and a header he took instead

 

He swam around, then dried right off back on the boat, to a hearty laugh

To Brockport, Holley, Albion, comely Medina and Middleport by the path

As Lockport loomed there was a row about precedence with another boat

And Captain Spoor shouted, “There’ll be a muss, you soon won’t be afloat”

At dusk they passed through Lockport locks and Pember said, “Ah, I see!”

Midnight came at Pendleton by Tonawanda Creek with Niagara in the lee

On the twelfth day they ran by the river to Buffalo Basin off of Lake Erie

Its grain silos and iron foundries, as Pember bid them adieu, by the sea

 

(John Blythe Smart, 2017)

A Synonym with Meaning

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When the author sits down at his desk, two books he loves the best

A dictionary words he may find, but without a thesaurus he is blind

Within its pages the essence of creative writing and poetry do reside

From gay Abandon at the front we quit, vacate, evacuate and leave

To Zoo with its safari parks and Zoom of race and rush and speed

And in the middle incorrect with false, erroneous and displeased

 

Stop or go, all or nothing, brave and cowardly, common and rare

These are not for our consideration here, since antonyms they bear

What we need to nullify is repeated textual words that grate repetitive

Novels, fictions, and great works made bad, or should I say defective

With our thesaurus at our side a famous, celebrated writer we may be

Our cognomen in starry lights with clever, shrewd and adept glee

 

(John Blythe Smart, 2017)

A Modern Haiku

 

River Flows

Ford by the Trees

Man Crosses

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(John Blythe Smart, 2017)

Of a traveller in the exotic East

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Essence of Japan

 

Artisan of old Edo

Shogun’s worker keenly wooed

A concubine fair

 

Hokusai’s Great Wave

Mount Fuji frames the picture

Rowers as of mice

 

Above green forests

Red Fuji glows like Dante’s rose

Its ice capped peaks

 

(John Blythe Smart, 2017)

A tribute to Hokusai the Japanese Turner

Chambord Palace, France

 Chateaus of the Loire Valley and other historic sites helped inspire the poetry contained in the book.

A Great Haka Challenge

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“Ka Mate, Ka Mate” was the cry when Cook first sighted land

Sydney whalers and traders followed, but did not make a stand

At Russell the “Hell-hole of the Pacific” missionaries came to help

Busby was made resident at Waitangi, his house up on the shelf

 

“Ka Mate, Ka Mate” was the cry when Hobson raised the flag

Forty five chiefs sat on the lawn, as Rev. Williams began to sag

“He iwi tahi tatou” “We are now one people” they then declared

A misunderstanding of land ownership, haunted down the years

 

“Ka Mate, Ka Mate” the Musket Wars as Hone Heke cut it down

The mighty Union Jack fell off its roost, the soldiers they did frown

Across the North they battled hard, at Ruapekapeka laid their lair

With trench warfare they held out, and escaped at Sunday prayers

 

“Ka Mate, Ka Mate” they declared on learning of Wakefield’s plan

His colonisation scheme formed in Newgate Prison without even a fan

To Wellington, Plymouth, Wanganui, Nelson, came they soon in droves

Land was bought for clothes and guns, settlers paid through the nose

 

Auckland amongst the volcanoes was sold for a casket of powder dear

A city grew by Point Britomart with Albert Barracks to allay any fears

The Presbyterians to Dunedin, and the Anglicans to Christchurch’s plains

Towns of brick, stone, and wood on their land, to the Maori all the same

 

“Ka Mate, Ka Mate” they declared, as the European land grab made pace

It was taken by force without consensus, by those claiming superior race

Wars at Taranaki and Waikato with the Waitara Purchase as their cause

Settlers took to stockades in fear, as Sir George Grey flexed out his paws

 

General Cameron arrived in support with Imperial Troops of the line

Down the Great South Road he marched and scoured the land very fine

The settlers garrisoned churches, while Rewi Maniapoto made his last stand

A million acres taken, Maori left with just “Rohe Potae,” a hat and its band

 

“Ka Mate, Ka Mate” of renegades in the King Country, Tawhiao had made

Religious cults extended the fight, Te Kooti at Chatham his plans soon laid

After raiding on Gisborne, pursuit was afoot with kupapa soldiers as well

Hiding out in the dense Urewera forest, the war ended as Te Porere fell

 

“Ka Mate, Ka Mate” was the cry due to land confiscations far from good

Settlement continued apace on the land, settlers came by vessels of wood

Te Whiti he used his Christian teachings to form Parihaka in the west

And like Tamihana’s, this agricultural commune had all that was best

 

However Maori ploughmen occupied land that the surveyor had pegged

Against British Law they were arrested in thousands, chains on their legs

Exiled to the South without any trial, into caves at Dunedin were placed

A disgrace of the nation, since they never again saw their family’s face

 

“Ka Mate, Ka Mate,” Seddon arrives to try and put these matters right

Whilst those of Liberal persuasion make new laws, honest in our sight

Pember Reeves he led  the way, his wife with Kate Sheppard soon worked

Emancipation was achieved, as England stayed under landowners’ cloaked

 

The Labour Party arrived in the land as they buried their Gallipoli dead

With new Maori links and Maori M.P.s the pressure for reform they said

Railways were built across the land, many of these being a cause célèbre

Cobb & Co. coaches crossed the Alps on roads with twists like a zebra

 

“Ka Mate, Ka Mate” the great All Blacks adopted the cry for their sport

George Nepia he toured all of England, leaving the home side on nought

Maori Parliaments they were formed, both Kotahitanga and Kauhanganui

Pressure groups aiming to vex the Crown, for their Brave Band of Tu(i)

 

But what is this we ask ourselves? The injustice and grievance remains

At Bastion Point the marae is lost, lest it upsets the Royals on their train

The residents are moved into State flats, losing all of their culture so keen

A protest lasts for five hundred days, until financial redress is seen

 

“Ka Mate, Ka Mate” the loud cry rings out over the land

At Waitangi Day they protest each year to honour their brand

The “Waitangi Tribunal” rights Victorian wrongs on their sand

And the Maori iwi receive millions of dollars in hand

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(John Blythe Smart, 2017)

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