The Poem - Simon Armitage

SIMON ARMITAGE

Song

The bridle-path, the river bank,
and where they crossed I took a length
of hazel bark, and carved a boat
no bigger than a fish, a trout,
and set it down and saw it float,
then sink. And where it sank
an inch of silver flesh declared itself
against the sun. Then it was gone.

And further south, beyond the bridge,
I took a nest of cotton grass
and flint to make a fire. Then watched
a thread of smoke unhook a pair
of seed propellers from a sycamore
which turned together and became
a dragonfly that drew the smoke
downstream. But the fire would not light.

Then at night, the house at the mouth
of the river. Inside, a fish,
a trout, the ounces of its soft
smoked meat prepared and on a plate.
I sat down there and ate. It is
the way of things, the taking shape
of things, beginning with their names;
secrets told in acts of sunlight,
promises kept by gifts of rain.

Give

Of all the public places, dear
to make a scene, I've chosen here.

Of all the doorways in the world
to choose to sleep, I’ve chosen yours.
I'm on the street, under the stars.

For coppers I can dance or sing.
For silver-swallow swords, eat fire.
For gold-escape from locks and chains.

It's not as if I'm holding out
for frankincense or myrrh, just change.

You give me tea. That's big of you.
I'm on my knees. I beg of you.

You May Turn Over and Begin

'Which of these films was Dirk Bogarde
not in? One hundredweight of bauxite

makes how much aluminium?
How many tales in The Decameron?

General Studies, the upper sixth, a doddle, a cinch
for anyone with an ounce of common sense

or a calculator
with a memory feature.

Having galloped through but not caring enough
to check or double-check, I was dreaming of

milk white breasts and nakedness, or more specifically
virginity.

That term — everybody felt the heat
but the girls were having none of it:

long and cool like cocktails,
out of reach, their buns and pigtails

only let out for older guys with studded jackets
and motorbikes and spare helmets.

One jot of consolation
was the tall spindly girl riding pillion

on her man's new Honda
who, with the lights on amber,

put down both feet and stood to stretch her limbs,
to lift the visor and push back her fringe

and to smooth her tight jeans.
As he pulled off down the street

she stood there like a wishbone
high and dry, her legs wide open,

and rumour has it he didn't notice
till he came round in an ambulance

having underbalanced on a tight left-hander.
A Taste of Honey. Now I remember.

'Song', 'You May Turn Over and Begin' from Kid (Faber, 1992)
'Give' from The Dead Sea Poems (Faber, 1995)

Also available from Amazon.co.uk:

The Universal Home Doctor (Faber, 2003)
Travelling Songs (Faber, 2002)
Selected Poems (Faber, 2001)
Killing Time: The Millennium Poem (Faber, 1999)
CloudCuckooLand (Faber, 1997)
Book of Matches (Faber, 1993)
Xanadu (Bloodaxe, 1992)
Zoom! (Bloodaxe, 1989)