Two more April "daily" poems

This first poem came out of a dream that seemed partly a recollection of the rather hothouse atmosphere of a couple of courses I attended many years ago - one at Lumb Bank; one a surprising local government 'bring out your creativity' weekend for staff who were maybe not "performing" as "creatively" as might be hoped, at which I first came across the ideas of Meister Eckhart and Hildegard of Bingen.

I have often passed on to aspiring writers the notion I picked up from one of my many poetry teachers (I can't remember which) to the effect that when one intends to be a writer one accepts the necessity to walk naked. I hope I have scuffed my footprints enough to prevent readers identifying any personalities in the poem.

AT THE RESIDENTIAL WEEKEND

“I am likewise neither a model

nor a member of the library”, I said,

wondering

am I a predator, and what

do I think I’m doing, being both

rude and charming to this

fragile naïve girl

who’s come on the course,

I suspect, purely to meet

the lionised monster giant

with the intravenous breath

who’d destroy us both if we crossed his path –

whom she clearly worships for his intellect

and achievements in whatever field it is

he has come to dominate.

By now I’ve moved to dreams of sleeping

with the frail delegate from Hartlepool

(almost certainly lesbian)

whose looks and works

years ago

enchanted me.

The second poem here is a pretty straightforward account of one of my first attempts to play my part in the ringing of a "method" called Plain Bob on six bells at a local church.

LEARNING THE ROPES:

(getting the hang

of plain bob doubles)

I am the one, the treble. I ring behind

the two, the four, the five,

the three

then I ring behind the two,

the four, the five, the three

more quickly, then I lead –

twice.

Then I start again but remember

the last shall be first, so I follow now

the three before the others –

twice again – lead twice and then apply

the same considerations. Trouble is

I get confused, transpose two bells,

lose track, and all the while

the captain whispers loud

reminders in my ear,

unhelpful

when they’re things I do

already know, and when in ringers’ jargon

incomprehensible.