books – Mum’s the word

My Dad was born in 1938. He moved around in his first couple of years to avoid the risk of serious bombing. He was born in a Garrison town. He ended up not far from there, in a place called Kelevedon in Essex, where he spent many evenings sheltering from bombs anyway. He remembered the moment when it was suddenly not exciting anymore. There was a reality behind it. He remembers the V1s and the V2s. The anti- aircraft guns on the streets. The tractors hauling tanks. He remembers the rationing and the worry. He has carried that. The worry. He also carried the desire to create something and over the years’ he has written many novels, and reams of poetry. None of it published. A lot of it carries the weight of those worries and those that came after.

But other poems make me giggle. You can hear a mans voice in his written words. I can hear Dads.

Not all politically correct probably, (“Porky porky porky pie, makes you fat and then you die…”) but we used to laugh as kids and recite them anyway (that one, when we were standing in the supermarket).

Another one which we loved and which even smallest can recite is written below.

I would like to introduce Mr. Richard Whyard, 87, A wonderful poet and writer. And Dad.

POGO DANCING CAUSES SPINAL INJURY (Newspaper report)

Penguin on a pogo stick! Penguin on a pogo stick!

-it seems a most unlikely trick.

B O I N G , B O I N G , B O I N G,

It bounces along , singing the penguin pogo song:

“I am the bird of Antartic Clime

pogo dancing all the time;

Over the ice floes , mile on mile,

I ‘boing’along with lots of style;

on an on, through storm and blizzard,

Oh, pogo dancing is so wizard!

Sod that stuff about the spine-

It may hurt yours, but never mine!”

He meets a vet, who says “Look here,

You’ll harm your spine, that’s what I fear.

Penguin upon a pogo stick?

What a crazy trick! – one single slip,

And you’ll be a quite a lot less frisky

and probably all slipped-disc-y.”

But through the hail, and storm, and thunder,

It bounces on and across tundra.

Then , bounding through this dismal space

It spies a little eating place:

Now though unmoved by weather grim,

Penguins are quite frankly, pretty dim;

In fact , they really have no clue,

and seeing the notice Penguin Stew,

“How nice, how very nice,” thinks he,

“A dish prepared for little me!”

So , boing! he bounces through the door….

And, Wham! he’s laid out on the floor,

Then slammed into a damn’ great pot

And roasted: Penguin, stick, the lot!

i got hold of the book, a dream dictionary, which he had said was probably long gone.

It was tucked away , in respite care, away from over interpretation;

likely in these days of misunderstanding and

over analysis with the best of intention, to steady a mind , lacking constancy.

He said in it in that sardonic way of his ,without much depth,

of course he didnt realise what the book meant. it wasn’t after all something of any value ,

and its genre was perhaps adolescent

which was entirely suitable when you are 17.

When i was looking for it, i recalled the loss of the back cover , in the late 1990’s ,

torn off through over use and tucked into the mattress of the bed . i stuck it back together with cheap sellotape that held up until the journey to uni.

And the front cover, furled on one corner, and scattered with hot rock burns from those days.

Those days and nights.

I had packed it first before clothes or anything considered essential.

But that book it was the window to my unconscious ; I had no idea what was happening back then and the book seemd to make sense of some things, enough to make some days bearable

I remember the day that Dad brought it for me from the bookshop in Felixstowe ; huge expanses of glass

framing displays of second hand books which trickled out onto the pavement over tables outside on sunny days

Inside they stretch backward and round ,

up and down

and just when you thought they were coming to a close, you saw more,

on the floor and chair. A heavenly state of affairs. For those that love books.

Twenty years later and i walked around the corner with a student and there it . was still open.

The student loved books and was amazed , overjoyed when i said lets go in

to buy you a book, I said

something for you and she nearly burst free

the smile took her through and up and round and through and down and

then she emerged

from the middle of it all, book in hand clasping

grasping

as if her life depended upon it

a book

can i have this one

she held it up

smiling nervously

the moment caught me

at the back of my throat

and in my hestiaition she found no

it s not academic enough and she dropped her hand down

and i walked towards her and smiled

yes

yes?

and we smiled

at each other.

and at the dream dictionary she held in her hand.

Tag: books

Dads poetry

Against all odds………………………..