Issue 6: Edwin Morgan Tribute
Dorothy Alexander
Three Ante War Poems
These three interlinked pieces were written using variations on a method of found poetry that I have been experimenting with over the last few years. The base text is Edwin Morgan’s 'Strawberries'. I formed words by searching along each line of the poem to generate a vocabulary from which to construct the new work. Thus, for example, the line ‘There were never strawberries’ produced over 140 available words – verse, west, neb, tarries, awe, stare and so on.
What emerged was a meditation on an anti-war theme which seemed fitting, although to me the word ante felt more appropriate and so I titled the piece in this way.
The first word of each line is placed in direct relation to where it can be found in the original poem.
Dorothy Alexander
Three ante war poems
(three interlinked found poems out of Edwin Morgan’s Strawberries)
STRAWBERRIES
There were never strawberries
like the ones we had
that sultry afternoon
sitting on the step
of the open french window
facing each other
your knees held in mine
the blue plates in our laps
the strawberries glistening
in the hot sunlight
we dipped them in sugar
looking at each other
not hurrying the feast
for one to come
the empty plates
laid on the stone together
with the two forks crossed
and I bent towards you
sweet in that air
in my arms
abandoned like a child
from your eager mouth
the taste of strawberries
in my memory
lean back again
let me love you
let the sun beat
on our forgetfulness
one hour of all
the heat intense
and summer lightning
on the Kilpatrick hills
let the storm wash the plates
Edwin Morgan
ante
thought is a taint of sight
stare at thought
thought in fall
thought in fall again
fact wastes
each lie wipes the template
lutes and verses serr in reverse
as each war stashes its lewd gene
news harries at half sly
acid in deed
and acid wastes
and and acid
adeste
how light the earth
when wrens in dowdy stab
forage sly in stone tether
the liar sings forget the wren
let hail waste the feather
the lied to stare at theories
tears merging in reverb
the wren abandoned
liege
the lone he
the lone herr
ache bent Inwards and dead to him
dowdy and dead
each need tossed in a toy idea
and gee yes
tight high male thrills
thrills that tears strafe
and no hells atone
