Bye, bye, people. I’ll call you later. Are you going home now? To all the dusty rented rooms, nasty pine furniture with walls on other people’s flushing toilets, Skype calls and rhythmic thuds they try to obscure with loud beats of an album on repeat. Another aeroplane. A train. We reside near transport under a flight-path. 8/1/14
Yesterday’s poem, “Would you ever live in Heather Green?”, introduced the subject matter of London’s rented rooms. According to the dates ascribed in my notes to each poem, the starting drafts for each are separated by nearly a year. With this information in mind, I have tried to assess whether the poetic narrator’s point of view or tone differs between the two vignettes. While “Molten Hour” is endowed the evocative title, it is filled with the invasive noises of close living. “Heather Green” turns to irony by its conclusion, but outlines an attempt at staged domesticity by including home-ware objects and comforting rituals (making tea, lighting candles). Even the references to unnecessary lawn moving and the absent heather posit the presence of both in the reader’s mind.
P.S. It is not without resonance that these poems commence this month of intensive posting. I am seeking alternative rented accommodation in London, on a poet’s oilcloth and erratic self-employment (as a copyeditor). If you happen to know of a waterproof garden folly… please send word via Twitter or Facebook.
Collected poems in book form, available for preview and purchase:
Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys
Shining in Brightness