Anxiety - Magwitch in the fog on Romney Marshes
Posted: 02 October 2014
Word Count: 256
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ANXIETY - MAGWITCH IN THE FOG ON ROMNEY MARSHES
I am a fugitive on the foggy marsh
Finding no path to follow.
Other forms move around me
But leave no tracks in the sludge.
The ground beneath me floods
With raw sewage of despair.
It is the hangover from far-off times
When naked men feared creatures of the night,
And still they panic in my neolithic mind.
What stillness is there to be found in life?
Half real ghosts of flesh,
We evaporate through time.
No moment stays,
No thing endures.
We can only hope for a benign force
To awaken in the deeps
And send us surfing through life,
A flash of sun on the wave’s curve.
If we could see ourselves with God’s eye,
Each a ray of crystal light refracted,
The soldiers might have nothing to hunt.
Who is making the laws round here?
Anxiety rules the misty no-man’s land
Between mind and body,
Bastard child of Reality and Dream.
Who can heal a transient mind -
End this blind assault on emptiness?
Who can stop an adrenalin gland
Firing like a deranged machine-gun?
Shafts of morning sunlight pierce the battleground.
We shiver in the churchyard but find no sanctuary here.
Whoever thought up this trial
Put too many flaws in the design,
Asked too much of us.
I could be a fossilised head,
Remnant of a dead forgotten hominid.
A cannon sounds from the hulks out at sea.
Once more shackled convicts
Blindly move through the fog
On the uncertain marshes.
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Comments by other Members
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 Bazz at 21:21 on 02 October 2014
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Hi Nick, this is a very atmospheric piece, I especially like
It is the hangover from far-off times
When naked men feared creatures of the night,
And still they panic in my neolithic mind.
What stillness is there to be found in life?
This part feels quite personal and psychological, whereas I wonder if the longer the poem goes it doesn't start to ask too many questions, post too many philisophical notions? I think Magwitch was a Dickens character, Great Expectations? I'm not sure if knowing more about the character and his situation is required? For example i'm not sure if this piece needs to be about Magwitch, it's an interesting piece in itself, the anxiety of escape, the rush of freedom, all of which is captured excellently.
I love the last stanza
A cannon sounds from the hulks out at sea.
Once more shackled convicts
Blindly move through the fog
On the uncertain marshes.
which evokes something quite mythical, and mysterious all in itself.
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 DJC at 17:11 on 04 October 2014
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Hi Nicholas
Thanks for sharing this - I feel it took a lot of work to get this far. It's pretty dense. I'll be honest though (as you say that you can take it!). To me it's just trying a bit too hard to be poetic. As a result I'm not sure what it's about? I really feel the emotion, that raw and unmanageable sense of despair. I've been there - I think we all have. But some of the language is a bit overblown for me, and as a result the poem lacks the sort of cohesion that would enable me to properly identify with the emotions you explore.
Not sure who it was that spoke about how poetry takes what is inside us and translates in such a way that it can be transferred to those who read it? For me this is fundamental to good poetry. Plath is the only one I know who can take these sorts of raw emotions and write about them so honestly (in poems like Edge). It's pretty dangerous ground to tread as there's a fine line between poetic genius and a rehashing of cliches. I guess it's because these emotions are so ubiquitous (like writing love poetry) that to do it well I think it's better to remove yourself from the raw emotion and instead pin it to real stuff, day to day things.
I'd quite like to see you grounding this more in the concrete. A walk through the marsh, with things seen and heard. If it's more grounded there is room within the concrete for the exploration of emotion.
Hope this helps. Usually more concise with my poetry...
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 James Graham at 20:03 on 05 October 2014
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Hi Nick – Barry has suggested that the poem asks too many questions, and in that sense goes on too long. I’m inclined to agree. But before I get to the iffy bits, let me just say that I think there are passages in this poem that are absolutely top-rate. 24 carat. The opening and closing lines, for example, the way they frame the poem in the bleakest of surroundings. And these lines (I’ve taken the liberty of changing one word):
It is the legacy of far-off times
When naked men feared creatures of the night,
And still they panic in my neolithic mind.
It’s such a concise, telling expression of a real insight – a disturbing thought that comes to us during periods of high anxiety, that it is a very ancient thing and so much a part of our nature that we cannot escape it. I have personal experience of this, and of seeing it in these terms. I’ve never seen it better expressed than in these lines.
Another gem:
Half real ghosts of flesh,
We evaporate through time.
Again, I don’t think I’ve come across a better, more concise expression of the idea of transience. One more very telling quote (again I’ve changed one word):
Whoever devised this trial
Put too many flaws in the design,
Asked too much of us.
‘Legacy’ for ‘hangover’ (above) and ‘devised’ for ‘thought up’ seem, in both cases, better because they’re more formal. This is a serious poem, and colloquial language seems a little out of place. As far as I can see these are the only examples.
Where the poem starts to lose me is from ‘If we could see ourselves with God’s eye’. Some parts I don’t understand, some seem superfluous – asking too many questions, as Barry says. What do you mean by saying if we could see ourselves with God’s eye each of us would appear as a ‘ray of crystal light’? Is that how God sees us? And ‘the soldiers might have nothing to hunt’. I can see the ‘fugitive’ idea from the opening lines recurring here, but I don’t follow the reasoning that if we saw ourselves as God sees us, we would not behave in such ways that the soldiers (or police) would be after us. We would do no wrong. Maybe you mean if we saw ourselves as God sees us, we would have perfect wisdom and so learn to avoid evil. But these three lines seem a bit of a conundrum and don’t work for me.
Between ‘Anxiety rules...’ and ‘...sanctuary here’ I can’t say I find much that adds new insights to the poem. The first half of the poem makes a very powerful statement about anxiety, not merely everyday anxiety but something deeper, and I feel these lines are more superficial and could be omitted. However, please feel free to contradict me with an explanation of these lines, a justification for including them. There may be something I’ve missed; it wouldn’t be the first time.
I hope you won’t mind if I post separately a suggested shortened version. It’s not meant to be a prescription for revising the poem; just something to consider. You may find it has lost something you wanted to retain – that too much has been left out. If you do decide to shorten the poem you might well do it differently. But I made the shortened version because I do think the poem contains core material of outstanding quality. Let me know what you think.
James.
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James Graham at 20:22 on 05 October 2014
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I am a fugitive on the foggy marsh
Finding no path to follow.
Other forms move around me
But leave no tracks in the sludge.
The ground beneath me floods
With raw sewage of despair.
It is the legacy of far-off times
When naked men feared creatures of the night,
And still they panic in my neolithic mind.
What stillness is there to be found in life?
Half real ghosts of flesh,
We evaporate through time.
No moment stays,
No thing endures.
We hope in vain for a benign force
To awaken in the deeps
And send us surfing through life,
A flash of sun on the wave’s curve.
If we could see ourselves with God’s eye,
The soldiers might have nothing to hunt.
Who is making the laws round here?
Whoever devised this trial
Put too many flaws in the design,
Asked too much of us.
I could be a fossilised head,
Remnant of a dead forgotten hominid.
A cannon sounds from the hulks out at sea.
Once more shackled convicts
Blindly move through the fog
On the uncertain marshes.
Note:
If we could see ourselves with God’s eye,
The soldiers might have nothing to hunt
I cut the middle line here as it seems to gel better without it. If we could see ourselves with a wisdom equal to that of God, we would do no wrong; we would not have to fear retribution.
We hope in vain for a benign force
Is this more appropriate in the context? This hope doesn't seem likely to be fulfilled.
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 jackparamour at 23:04 on 05 October 2014
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A quick note to say thanks for all three comments. I've been away the last three days, so have only just read them. They need closer appreciation when I get some time hopefully tomorrow. But they look to have great insight on first reading. Just the sort of critiique I need as I'm thinking of self-publishing a collection soon...But clearly there is work to be done, especially on the longer poems like this one. Many thanks indeed! Nick
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jackparamour at 16:09 on 08 October 2014
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Just to say, folks, that I'm still working on a new version of the poem. I have decided to shorten the title to "Magwitch", and to simply assume that readers are familiar with Great Expectations or David Lean's brilliant film version. I guess this dates me as a child of the Ancient Eighties. I think that can't be helped, although it is tempting to try another version without reference to Dickens. I take James' point about using more formal language for a sombre poem. I totally take DJC's comment that Sylvia Plath is the master of poetic psychological distress, and one is treading dangerous ground to attempt the same. But I did intend the poem to have a mythological feel grounded in a real situation that people might be aware of - to use the plight of Dickens' convicts to express the anxiety emdemic in the human condition. I hope to move people emotionally, perhaps offer catharsis. Is one likely to say anything new about the HC? Probably not, but perhaps one can say it in a new way. But I will cartainly consider whether it falls into cliche or adolescent blood-letting...
Oh dear, the current version has got longer...doh! I'll have to stash it away for a day or two and then have a fresh look.
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jackparamour at 09:40 on 10 October 2014
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Right. here we go - 2 versions of Magwitch.
A couple of my favourite bits have gone in the short version - "What stillness is there to be found in life" (Too much like Eliot's "Where is the still voice to be heard" and clashes with with "still they panic") and "I could be a fossilised head, Remnant of a dead forgotten hominid." which I liked but couldn't really justify. Several of your suggestions have gone into both versions. I've been strongly influenced by comments from members, so would appreciate any more. Particularly, if there is still a sense of cliche in the poem. I've tried to make it more grounded and immediate while maintaining the existential thread. In the shorter version I have removed God's all seeing eye and references to war-zones to try and streamline the poem's range of themes. Does it need the explanation of it being inspired by Great Expectations?
MAGWITCH - SHORT VERSION
(At the start of Charles Dickens’ “Great Expectations, the convict Magwitch has escaped from his prison ship and is struggling through the fog on Romney Marshes.)
I am a fugitive on the foggy marsh
Finding no path to follow.
Other forms move around me
But leave no tracks in the mire.
Convicts all, by soldiers hunted,
We beat our separate ways.
It is the legacy from far-off times
When naked men feared creatures of the night,
And still they panic in my neolithic mind.
Perhaps I will find a tree stump
And rest these shackled feet.
Half real ghosts of flesh,
We evaporate through time.
No moment stays,
No thing endures.
Who is making the laws round here?
Anxiety rules the no-man’s land
Between mind and body.
I charge on through transient haze.
But now a moment of respite:
I find a churchyard
Where I can melt with the stones.
Shafts of sunlight pierce the battleground.
Whoever devised this trial
Put too many flaws in the design,
Asked too much of us.
Perhaps the boy will bring me a pie.
A cannon sounds from the hulks out at sea.
Once more shackled convicts
Blindly move through the fog
On the uncertain marshes.
MAGWITCH - LONG VERSION
(At the start of Charles Dickens’ “Great Expectations, the convict Magwitch has escaped from his prison ship and is struggling through the fog on Romney Marshes.)
I am a fugitive on the foggy marsh
Finding no path to follow.
Other forms move around me
But leave no tracks in the mire.
Convicts all, by soldiers hunted
We beat our separate ways.
It is the legacy from far-off times
When naked men feared creatures of the night,
And still they panic in my neolithic mind.
Perhaps I will find a tree stump
And rest these shackled feet.
Half real ghosts of flesh,
We evaporate through time.
No moment stays,
No thing endures.
I can only hope for some inspiration
To stir way down in the deep soul
And send me surfing through life.
If I could see myself with God’s eye,
A flash of sun on the wave’s curve,
I might break free of this mist.
Who is making the laws round here?
I charge on through transient haze,
Chattering mind and rattling chains -
Machine guns on the Somme.
Anxiety rules the no-man’s land
Between mind and body.
But now in a moment of respite
I find a churchyard
Where I can melt with the stones.
Shafts of sunlight pierce the battleground.
Whoever devised this trial
Put too many flaws in the design,
Asked too much of us.
I could be a fossilised head,
Remnant of a dead forgotten hominid.
Perhaps the boy will bring me a pie.
A cannon sounds from the hulks out at sea.
Once more shackled convicts
Blindly move through the fog
On the uncertain marshes.
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James Graham at 16:05 on 15 October 2014
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I think you’ve got to the heart of poem in the shorter version. I like the way you have, in both the newer versions, centred it more on Magwitch; his wish for a tree-stump to rest on, and the way you place him in the churchyard. We have a sense of him moving on physically, which contrasts with the bleakness of his thoughts – no ‘moving on’ in that sense. The foggy marsh of his existence seems unending.
All the most telling lines are still there. The various reflections on transience, primeval fears, the flaws in the design, brought to mind Shakespeare’s phrase, Lear addressing Edgar: ‘unaccommodated man’ who is ‘no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as thou art’. Magwitch is ‘unaccommodated man’, and the reflections that accompany his flight across the marshes are those of the creature homo sapiens reduced to its fundamentals. The existential theme and the setting and atmosphere mesh together very well.
There’s no need to include a note about Great Expectations. You can expect poetry readers to recall enough to let them understand the poem. In general, in the age of the internet even more than in the past, we can expect readers to fill in background if necessary, e.g. find ‘Magwitch’ in Wikipedia.
I did think you might have included in the short version something of the thoughts expressed in the lines ‘I can only hope for some inspiration...break free of this mist’. The six lines reduced to two or three. I don’t think it would be out of place for Magwitch to have a passing thought about a life other than this hell in which he finds himself. The expression of it would have to be negative: it doesn’t chime well to have him say that he can hope for inspiration which will send him ‘surfing through life’. Better to have him think that he cannot hope for such a thing. That way, the idea of a liberation or redemption is present in the poem, though it remains beyond reach.
I cannot hope for inspiration
To stir in the depths of my soul.
I cannot break free of this mist.
Or you might use ‘I cannot see myself with God’s eye...’ Another aspect of this is that it contrasts with the only kind of hope that Magwitch can expect to be fulfilled: the elementary hope that he will find a place to rest, or that ‘the boy will bring me a pie’. Something like the three lines above could be placed here:
I cannot hope for inspiration
To stir in the depths of my soul.
I cannot break free of this mist.
Perhaps the boy will bring me a pie.
- making quite a striking juxtaposition. It’s something to consider anyway.
The word ‘charge’ in ‘I charge on through transient haze’ seems wrong. It suggests to me that he’s going at a headlong pace – in shackles? Perhaps stumble on, battle on, press on? But I can’t see a single other word in the poem that needs changing. As I said at the start, this short version is the heart of the poem. It’s more tightly constructed, and everything of value (a great deal) from your first version has been retained.
James.
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jackparamour at 18:35 on 23 October 2014
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Many thanks for that James - I've been off-line for a while due to the death of a PC, but will digest your thoughtful comments at the weekend. Much appreciated! Nick
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jackparamour at 16:38 on 26 October 2014
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Well, here is the final(?) version of Magwitch.
I took James' advice on several things. "Charge" became "Shuffle" and the hopeless thoughts of a better spiritual state became -
"Shafts of sunlight dapple the tall spire
But I do not feel God's finger
Ripple the deep waters of the soul."
Hmmm...it may change again...but for the time being this one is going back in the archive! Thanks for helping me with the scalpel.
MAGWITCH - SHORT VERSION 2
I am a fugitive on the foggy marsh
Finding no path to follow.
Other forms move around me
But leave no tracks in the mud.
Convicts all, by soldiers hunted,
We beat our separate ways.
It is the legacy from far-off times
When naked men feared creatures of the night,
And still they panic in my neolithic mind.
Perhaps I will find a tree stump
And rest these shackled feet.
Half real ghosts of flesh,
We evaporate through time.
No moment stays,
No thing endures.
Who is making the laws round here?
Anxiety rules the no-man’s land
Between mind and body.
I shuffle on through transient haze.
But now a moment of respite:
A churchyard where I can melt with the stones.
Shafts of sunlight dapple the tall spire
But I do not feel God's finger
Ripple the deep waters of the soul.
Whoever devised this trial
Put too many flaws in the design,
Asked too much of us.
Perhaps the boy will bring me a pie.
A cannon sounds from the hulks out at sea.
Once more shackled convicts
Blindly move through the fog
On the uncertain marshes.
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James Graham at 20:56 on 27 October 2014
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It was already almost there, and you’ve finished the job. ‘Shuffle’ is perfect. This is a neat, simple tightening up:
But now a moment of respite:
A churchyard where I can melt with the stones.
The longer line you end up with matches other long lines elsewhere in the poem.
Shafts of sunlight dapple the tall spire
But I do not feel God's finger
Ripple the deep waters of the soul.
You’ve very effectively combined the sunlight image with the new image of God’s finger. It follows so naturally – the sun breaks through briefly and shines on the church spire; after the fog on the marshes this might be a hopeful sign, but God does not stir the waters – not even gently. An excellent, subtle image.
Perhaps the boy will bring me a pie
still resonates as the only meagre sort of hope Magwitch can realistically have. This is a final version for sure. You say it may still change – it’s my experience too that after a time you come back to a ‘finished’ poem and something else occurs to you. But in this case if you never tweak it any more it will be all right. Your poem on Willie ‘the Lion’ Smith is good; this is even better.
James.
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jackparamour at 12:02 on 28 October 2014
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Thanks James - I very much appreciate the time and insight you've given. The poem will certainly rest as it is for a time if not forever. This process of revision has also been a good education which will help me working on other poems I've written. Very best wishes, Nick
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