Shipping
Posted: 26 November 2014
Word Count: 106
Summary: My take on the bbc shipping forecast.
|
Font Size
|
|
Shipping
Snug, I lie in night listening to the shipping
forecast bolting the doors of fortress Britain.
South Utsire rising to Gale force nightmare,
nightwear, sleigh wear, blizzard over Finisterre.
Rockall me off to sleep deep low Hebrides.
Sleet and snow, nowhere to go except slide
down the voice of the night announcer
and castaway the ropes of wakefulness
one by one so that, by his words my bed floats
in the hiss and boom of a terrible sea
where immigrants hang on for morning,
over a cascading fall to their peril,
praying for light and gulls flying over
Malin in a beautiful racket of white.
|
Comments by other Members
| |
 James Graham at 20:19 on 27 November 2014
 Report this post
|
Good to see a new poem, Des. One that’s full of the kind of assonances and word-play that I recall from other poems of yours. The lines
South Utsire rising to Gale force nightmare,
nightwear, sleigh wear, blizzard over Finisterre.
Rockall me off to sleep deep low Hebrides
were the first to strike me as very lively and full of interest. Especially the impression they give of drowsy word-association – of stuff going on in the brain just before sleep. Not a ‘train of thought’ exactly – trains are coupled and going somewhere – but flitting (fleeting even) thoughts. Nightmare triggers nightwear, nightwear (and blizzard) triggers sleighwear. There’s more wordplay in ‘deep low’ – deep depression (not a happy phrase in normal usage) and low pressure take on soporific connotations. To a degree the whole poem is like this: it captures the drifting thoughts of a brain not quite in gear and ready for sleep. (But does it perfectly coherently.)
Now, there’s a thing I’m in two minds about, though one perspective is beginning to outweigh the other. At first I felt the poem hit the wrong note when it came to the immigrants. These lines evoke some really bad stuff, desperate impoverished people in an unseaworthy boat. A few might fall overboard and drown; the whole crate might well sink. The thing is, the context of the poem seems too light and playful to accommodate this.
However, the more I get to know the poem the more I think the glimpse of the immigrant boat can be seen as another part of that pre-sleep drift of associations. Not everything that pops up is nice. It could be read as: ‘ “Terrible sea” – immigrants – wish I hadn’t thought of that – oh, well...’ Some readers might feel it’s out of place, and also feel a bit of a wrench passing from the immigrants to the seagulls; feel that the ending is dismissive. However, I begin to see the sestet, including the last two lines, at perhaps more than its face value, different in tone (as we expect in a sonnet) from the octave. The morning flight of gulls can be seen as (a) indifferent nature carrying on as normal, and/or (b) an ironic, even sinister, celebration.
As I say, the poem is growing on me and I’m tending to think the transient thought of immigrants isn’t out of place. To delete them and put ‘voyagers hang on for morning’ would distance the whole thing, but why sidestep reality?
One change might be worth considering – to ‘darken’ the gulls image a touch. Just off the top of my head: ‘an insolent racket of white’ or some such word that makes the gulls chime better with what has gone before.
It would be very interesting to know what you think on these points.
James.
|
|
| |
 desdillon at 11:58 on 28 November 2014
Report this post
|
Hi James
I was responding to your group message.
as usual thanks for your insight into this poem. I was trying to catch that half sleep time - and glad you think it does. I love assonance internal rhyme and wee sprung rhythms in poetry. And I loved Heaney's The Shipping Forecast so was always going to have a go at the subject myself. The immigrants are the main bone of contention here. I put the "fortress Britain" into line two to foreshadow the immigrants in the boat. Then I wanted that comfort we have in the rich west to settle in before crashing the reader into a cold and harsh sea.
But I had meant the gulls to be an image of relief, of salvation, for the immigrants - dark passes and there's light and land etc. The " Beautiful racket of white" is meant to evoke that. But obviously it doesn't. If there was a word that meant salvation/beautiful/relief/peace/ all in one that I could use - like " a(or the) (or our)salvation of gulls over Malin in a beautiful racket of white"
or " Gulls flying over Malin in a welcome racket of white"
Or I could push the gulls further into the realm of darkness? I like the idea of a sinister celebration - how dark is that!? Pure Hitchcock.
what do you think, James?
best wishes
Des
| |
 Bazz at 14:23 on 28 November 2014
Report this post
|
Hi Des, love the rhythm and flow of this, especially
South Utsire rising to Gale force nightmare,
nightwear, sleigh wear, blizzard over Finisterre.
This is definately the kind of poem that rewards rereading, and even being read aloud, it comes alive the more time you spend with it.
I didn't think too much about the immigrants line, myself, I just took this to be a piece about an island lashed by water, and all the things and people bubbling around us. Perhaps if you used slightly less emotive words (peril and praying), and just used imagery. the bed floats for all weary travellers, new and old?
| |
desdillon at 17:02 on 28 November 2014
Report this post
|
Hi Bazz
Thanks for your comments. Appreciated. Aye this is one ill have a go at reading out loud next time I'm reading. I see what you're saying about an island surrounded by bubbling sea. That's certainly the feeling I'm going for. to wait and see what comments come in and then rewrite this poem. Still hoping to get this immigrants crashing into a happy and relieved dawn. If I can't...as you say it's still got the island surrounded by all things feeling going for it.
| |
 stormbox at 00:29 on 29 November 2014
Report this post
|
A great idea to have the shipping forecast send you into a disturbed sleep. I really enjoyed the poem the more I re-read it. Like other comments, the word "immigrants" jars with me, and I would replace it with "disturbed dreams" to keep the focus on the upset sleep. Nice poem though.
| |
desdillon at 11:33 on 01 December 2014
Report this post
|
Hi Stormbox - thanks for your comments. I might change Immigrants to refugees.
| |
 V`yonne at 16:48 on 01 December 2014
Report this post
|
I love this! I love the shipping forecast but
South Utsire rising to Gale force nightmare,
nightwear, sleigh wear, blizzard over Finisterre.
Rockall me off to sleep deep low Hebrides.
Sleet and snow, nowhere to go except slide
down the voice of the night announcer
and castaway the ropes of wakefulness
is just so wonderful. There is some very otherness about listening to that broadcast whilst tucked in a safe, warm bed and so I like the way you turned that into peril on the sea and the the beauty of nature too all mixed dreams
and gulls flying over
Malin in a beautiful racket of white.
I would really love to see this one in my February slush pile at The Liinet!
|
|
| |
desdillon at 10:36 on 02 December 2014
Report this post
|
Hi V'yonne - thanks for your comments. I still think it's amazing that people take time to comment on other people's work. I'm glad you liked the poem - and also that you like the peril on the sea part too. I also love listening to that broadcast and thinking thank god it's not me out there at sea. I've put in my diary to send this into The Linnet's Wings in February.
| |
 nickb at 21:31 on 03 December 2014
Report this post
|
I love this one too, there is something magical about the shipping forecast, the names are so evocative and have seeped into our consciousness almost by osmosis. The fact that we (I) don't know where they all are only adds to their mystery. Your use of them in this piece is really clever. I particularly liked:
nowhere to go except slide
down the voice of the night announcer
and castaway the ropes of wakefulness
Wonderful!
Nick
| |
desdillon at 10:50 on 05 December 2014
Report this post
|
Thanks Nick for taking the time to comment. And those are my favorite couple of lines in the poem.
| |
James Graham at 15:51 on 05 December 2014
Report this post
|
Hi Des - a belated reply to your reply to me!
Gulls flying over Malin in a welcome racket of white
As soon as I saw 'Welcome' in that line I had that instant reaction that it was exactly the right word. I don't know if that happens with you - you're trying to get just the right word, then a word springs to mind and you punch the air. Yes! 'Welcome' makes a subtle link with the refugees in the night storm - 'beautiful' doesn't really - and at the same time the gulls are a welcome sight and sound to anyone after such a night.
'Refugees' is probably better than 'immigrants' because 'immigrants' is a word bandied about by politicians and it has acquired dubious connotations. Also 'refugees' more strongly suggests people trying to escape poverty, tyranny, natural disaster etc, and that doesn't necessarily apply to immigrants.
You could experiment with the idea of 'pushing the gulls further into the realm of darkness' just to see how it turns out. I find sometimes that a poem seems to be potentially going in two directions; if so, it can be interesting to try writing two versions. However, I would say the current version is likely to be the winner. It is a winner, a subject brilliantly chosen and realised with wit and insight.
James.
|
|
| |
desdillon at 15:04 on 07 December 2014
Report this post
|
Hi James
yes Welcome is the word - I added it on at the end of my list and the more I thought about it the more I felt it was right. A welcome sight for the refugees and an actual welcome from those on the shore - or the shore itself.
I've also gone with Refugees and think it really strengthens the poem.
As usual thanks for yours and everyone's help and insight. I now have a better poem then the one I started with.
here it is now -
Shipping
Snug, I lie in night listening to the shipping
forecast bolting the doors of fortress Britain.
South Utsire rising to Gale force nightmare,
nightwear, sleigh wear, blizzard over Finisterre.
Rockall me off to sleep deep low Hebrides.
Sleet and snow, nowhere to go except slide
down the voice of the night announcer
and castaway the ropes of wakefulness
one by one so that, by his words my bed floats
in the hiss and boom of a terrible sea
where refugees hang on for morning,
over a cascading fall to their peril,
praying for light and gulls flying over
Malin in a welcome racket of white.
| |
|
|
 Jennifer1976 at 12:55 on 09 December 2014
Report this post
|
Hi Des,
I can't really add anything new, but I just wanted to say that I enjoyed reading this poem. We occasionally listen to the shipping forecast late at night and your poem captures that sense of slipping off to sleep, with all the images that come to mind, while half dreaming of being out at sea and all it entails.
I thought the original version was good, and I think that the word changes you've added work really well.
All the best,
Jenny
| |
|
|
| |
Comments by other Members
