Very sorry for the absence. While we’re on the subject, this will be the last MV until about mid-August. You know, gotta work on my tan.
There have been two requests for some work by Carol Ann Duffy, and y’all know I never turn down requests. Ms. Duffy was recently appointed Poet Laureate of England, the first woman in the 341-year history of the post. For her first published piece since the appointment, she took as her topic not a royal wedding, a royal birth, a royal birthday, or a royale with cheese, but the expenses scandal that rocked Parliament this spring. It was published in the Guardian about 2 weeks ago, and an editorial in the paper said that “the poem can be seen as a statement of intent that she intends to tackle big, difficult subjects in the nation’s narrative.”
“It is a powerful, passionate commentary on the corrosiveness of politics on politicians and the ruinous effect on idealism… Beyond saying the poem was about the effect of politics on idealism, Duffy was reluctant to elaborate on its meaning, wanting the poem to do the talking.”
I am likewise reluctant to elaborate on its meaning, wanting you to do the talking. Have a good week. -ed.
How it makes of your face a stone
that aches to weep, of your heart a fist,
clenched or thumping, sweating blood, of your tongue
an iron latch with no door. How it makes of your right hand
a gauntlet, a glove-puppet of the left, of your laugh
a dry leaf blowing in the wind, of your desert island discs
hiss hiss hiss, makes of the words on your lips dice
that can throw no six. How it takes the breath
away, the piss, makes of your kiss a dropped pound coin,
makes of your promises latin, gibberish, feedback, static,
of your hair a wig, of your gait a plankwalk. How it says this –
politics – to your education education education; shouts this –
Politics! – to your health and wealth; how it roars, to your
conscience moral compass truth, POLITICS POLITICS POLITICS.