The launch issue of https://linktr.ee/thebelfastreview
Poem in The Belfast Review
Category Archives: Poetry
Reviews of Sanctuary: There Must Be Somewhere
BBC Radio Wales: Weekend Word
Excerpt: On 1st December
We are living at a time when, through the media, we see power being wielded ruthlessly. We witness the destruction caused by war and by wayward market forces. Often the two are linked. There’s so much conflict happening that the news can hardly keep up with it. It can feel overwhelming.
The 2023 Reuters Institute digital news report states that close to 36% of news consumers say they avoid news, often or sometimes. To some extent this is prompted by concern to protect mental health. We need accurate and trustworthy news but its frequency and pervasiveness across platforms can lead to feelings of helplessness – knowing so much; able to do so little.
And some interests will encourage us to stay passive; to undervalue the good we can do; to leave politics to the powerful; to neglect the power of compassion, generosity, solidarity. I try to describe that cynical outlook in this short poem:
DECEMBER 28th
After Christmas – always – Childermas: Slaughter of Innocents; Threat Neutralised.
The Prince of War, glistening with success, allures us.
This, he says, is what you want. Not a stable, sheep-herding losers, a star.
Poems in Amethyst Review
At Christmas time 2 of my poems were included in Amethyst Review.
On Christmas Day: What The Stars Want To Tell Us
And on 28th December, the commemoration of The Massacre of the Innocents
Poem in ‘Yarns’
The third edition of Ulster Scots anthology, ‘Yarns’ includes my poem
THA GOOLDEN WHUN
Ulstèr fowk ir like tha whun,
thoarny wi’oot an goold wi’in;
prood tae be thrawn, naw taen in
bi chancers’ flum;
tha fit yince plantit, nat fer muivin
whutiver come.
But wha wi whun wud be acquent
shud aye be minefu tae tak tent
nat tae be deggert ower an rent
bi stab an birsie;
an ‘stainch’ is ‘dour’ less it be blent
wi safnin mercie.
Thoarny tha whin – an tha wile rose
that in tha yin Ulstèr hedgera growes.
Tha whun’s a wal – an yit tha rose
is mairch an boondrie;
houls tha line in lichtsome claes
gainst al an soondrie
Hard tae be saft though we intend it.
‘Gin bein gommed we’r well defendit.
Still, whun an rose, baith bricht, baith scentit,
cud stan fur this:
Alloo oor goold an dinnae stint it
– less jag, mair kiss.
This is the third anthology, published by the Ulster Scots Community Network, November 2023. It’s a showcase of new poetry and prose, including from some writers publishing in Ulster Scots for the first time.
December 28th – Childermas
After Christmas – always – Childermas:*
Slaughter of Innocents; Threat Neutralised.
The Prince of War, glistening with success,
allures us. This, he says, is what you want.
Not a stable, sheep-herding losers, a star.
On the website of https://thelonelycrowd.org/2023/12/28/new-poetry-december-28th-by-angela-graham/ The Lonely Crowd December 28th.
The image is part of a depiction of the Slaughter of the Innocents on the floor of Siena Cathedral, 1481.
Childermas – The Coventry Carol
*The medieval Coventry Carol refers to the Slaughter of the Innocents, the killing of all male infants in Bethlehem ordered by King Herod to eradicate ‘the infant king’ the Wise Men had told him had been born. It is commemorated on 28th December every year and has long been known in England as ‘Childermas’. My poem is published in Amethyst Review for this date 2023.
The illustration header is part of the marble inlaid floor of Siena Cathedral depicting the Slaughter (c. 1481).
Writing Prompt MODRON Magazine
SINCE THE 7th OCTOBER 2023
A-WAITIN ON THA WHUSSLE
36TH (ULSTER) DIVISION, 7.21 a.m., 1st July 1916
A’m liein here this brave while,
yin o Genèral Nugent’s men,
oot in Nae-man’s Lan gye an earlie
that bit neardèr tae thaim Huns,
tae be readie, an mair nor readie,
fur whan tha whussle wheeps.
A’m liein here this lang while,
face-doon in tha glar,
tha barrage up aheid.
Barrage,
a saft, saft wurd
fur a wile heavy thïng.
Barrage, Barrage – lik whut ye’d say
tae peacify an ailin baist,
straikin its sheeglin hide,
“Barrage, barrage, oul sinn,
yer pain’ll soon be bae ye.”
Barrage! Barrage! Barrage!
a wrathsome nieve, blargein,,
duntèrin, poondin…
… till tha delf leps frae tha boord
an doon it dings agane
Agane, agane he’d dae it,
a man tae murdèr
onie bit o peace.
A’d lie, face doon, oot o his road,
ma hauns tae ma lugs,
keepin him oot o ma heid.
Ma faither…
Aa tha wrathsome faithers o tha worl
is here theday,
blattèrin thair weans
in yin great stramash.
we ir sae smaa unnèr this sky o shells,
tha grun aneath iz swallaed up bae soon
an we its spu’ins! Thon scraich
wull split ma heid!
Struck deef…!
Nae soon? Tha
guns hae
stapt.
Yin mïnit fur tae tak a braithe …
Yin mïnit fur tae see, sae clear,
sae clear, thon lang-deid man,
but, sae clear jest noo,
a luk o pain
flictèrin owre his face…
Yin mïnit mair
an A’ll be on ma feet
fur God an Ulstèr an tha Croon…
Ma Faither God, ye didnae spare yer sinn.
Inunnèr hemmer blows Ye lee’d him
Yit an wi aa he sayed, “Intae Yer hans…”
Ma sperrit… can A trust Ye wi it?
An wi ma faither’s…?
… fur tha sake o his yin nekked luk o sorra,
eneuch tae mak ma hairt gae oot tae him
an thon’s tha whussle
an tha wurd
that haes me up
an forrit
intae Yer hauns…
On the first morning of the First Battle of the Somme (1st July 1916), General Nugent sent Armagh Volunteers into no-man’s-land before zero hour. They had to lie and wait till the whistle blew for the general advance at 7.30am, the idea being that they would be that bit closer to their objective (the Hun). The first of them were sent out at 7.10am and then three further groups of Nugent’s Ulstermen at five-minute intervals. They had to lie under the ‘curtain’ of British shell bombardments passing above them. This must have been a horrifying experience.
This poem appeared in ‘Yarns’, 2021, an anthology of Ulster-Scots writing published by the Ulster-Scots Community Network. My grandfather was from Newtownstewart in County Tyrone, so the poem is not based on his experience. He was in the 36th (Ulster) Division which also took part in this battle. I wrote this poem in Ulster-Scots because he and so many of the men would have spoken like this. A tiny glossary: Glar sticky mud; Sheeglin trembling; Nieve fist.