Feathers

I love wild birds and as usual at this time of year I am feeding them, getting them used to coming into the garden in anticipation of the RSPB's Big Garden Birdwatch this weekend. I have recorded sightings in my garden for this project since I first heard about it ten years ago. I enjoy the hour with binoculars, sitting at my dining table, looking out of the window. I am often honoured with unusual guests on the feeders or the birdbath that was a wonderful gift from my son for my birthday last year. He also bought me a clock for Christmas with a garden bird at every hour. It makes me smile.

There are so many superstitions surrounding birds. A blackbird in the house is supposed to forewarn of a death. A white feather in your path is supposed to be a sign that your guardian angel is watching over you. A friend of mine found a mess of feathers in his driveway one day, then spotted a Peregrine Falcon devouring their former occupant a little further away.

I have told you before about my childhood fascination with Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poetic saga, The Rime of The Ancient Mariner, and unfortunate sailor who shot down the albatross who followed the ship and the curse that fell upon the crew, leaving them becalmed at sea with no hope of rescue.

And the good south wind still blew behind,
But no sweet bird did follow,
Nor any day for food or play
Came to the mariners' hollo!

And I had done a hellish thing,
And it would work 'em woe:
For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made the breeze to blow.
Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,
That made the breeze to blow!

Coleridge is the inspiration for my own poem this week.

The Feather’s Curse

In Xanadu, great Kubla Khan

A pleasure dome decreed.
He filled it with exotic plants
And birds with plumage never seen,
Of paradise and humming birds,
Parakeets and cockatoos,
Toucans and flamingos,
Macaws and peacocks blue.

And in this song filled aviary,

The Princess Aroonee
Would sing the sweetest songs on earth
In perfect harmony.
She was the purest in the land,
The brightest shining star.
Her true love was her childhood friend,
The handsome Kookamah.

But in the land of Xanadu

There lived an evil man,
A sorcerer as powerful,
As the mighty Kubla Khan.
Darkness crowded round him,
Light perished where he stood,
Vanity and pride possessed him,
He had not one gram of good.

He wanted to usurp the kingdom,

To surplant his bloodline there,
His plan was to seduce Aroonee,
Produce an all-powerful heir.
He knew the princess loved the birdsong,
Came to the dome to sing each day.
Dressed in vivid peacock feathers,
Disguised he waited for his prey.

He preened his glorious feathers,

Peformed a mating dance,
Flashing amethyst and emerald,
Waiting for his wicked chance.
But Aroonee’s love for Kookama,
Was pure as mountain dew,
She rebuffed the sorcerer’s advances,

Declaring her heart true.

The evil wizard was confounded,

Jealousy ripped his soul apart,
From his tail he drew a peacock plume,
And plunged its quill into Aroonee’s heart.
Her dying scream pierced the airwaves,
rippling across the land,
She spoke her breathless, dying curse,
As Kookamae struttedHe strutted held her hand.

Aroonee’s fate became a legend,

Her story travelled far and wide,
The cursed peacock cries her dying scream:
Its feathers never brought inside.


Thanks for reading, Adele.

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I love writing Ballads.

If you research what a poetic ballad really is, you will discover that they are usually written about and dedicated to a heroic figure. As a school child I read and did comprehension exercises about Samuel Taylor Coleridge's,  Rime of the Ancient Mariner.  The ballad itself is astonishing.  It is hypnotic, both in its imagery and the telling of the story. I still recall many of the details fifty years later. Wow that says something doesn't it.

No wonder then, that when I started to write poetry, the idea of a well written 100 verse ballad was always there waiting to be developed.  One day, I had a piece of creative writing to submit for an exam portfolio. I had decided to write a ballad but at that moment was struggling to find a suitable hero. On arriving home, the usual pile of junk mail met me, as I opened the front door. I leafed through, as I always do, in case a letter was hidden between and there was a request from the RNLI for funds to buy equipment for lifeboat men.

Suddenly I had the material for my epic poem, The Ballad of The Lifeboat Man. It helped me towards a distinction in the exam, took six weeks to write and tells the tale of a local man and boy who run into difficulties sailing from the Wyre Estuary.  While I was writing the poem, a helicopter crashed into the Irish sea off the Blackpool coast when delivering fresh crew to a gas rig. Despite the bravery of lifeboat crews from all local stations, all those aboard the helicopter died.  Their bodies were all brought to shore by the RNLI volunteers. My completed poem was given to the North West RNLI with a final memorial verse.

The Irish Sea around Morecambe Bay can be a very dangerous place. In 2015, I was asked to get involved with the restoration of  Euston Park in Fleetwood. With the help of research by Lynn Asgar from Fleetwood museum, I wrote a ballad for two brave, young Fleetwood men who have a memorial obelisk in the park. Several weeks later, I was asked by the designer, to select 333 characters from my poem and these were carved into a stone circular seat that now sits around the obelisk. I am very proud to have part of a poem as a permanent fixture in the renovated park but I am also humbled to have been asked to memorialise their heroism.


The Ballad of Greenall and Abrams

In the reign of Queen Victoria,
November 1890, a violent storm played havoc
with the ships in Morecambe Bay.
The lifeboat from the ‘Child of Hale’
rowed into a force ten gale,  to rescue
thirteen men aboard Norwegian barque ‘Labora’.
Each man  was dragged aboard the boat,
from lifebuoys keeping them afloat,
in freezing waters of the Irish Sea.

Later on that dreadful day,

the lifeboat ‘Edith’ made her way
to aid ‘New Brunswick’ floundering

in the bay. Robert Wright’s heroic crew,

using lifeboat Number Two,
safely brought back every hand
to the haven of the land.

But still the storm did not abate

and the hour was very late
when a Fleetwood fishing smack
was struggling to get  safely back.
There was a schooner in distress.
‘Jean Campbell’ was about to sink,
all hands would fall into the drink.

Wild and free the storm winds blew,

high and higher great waves grew,
yet the fearless ‘Osprey’ crew
left the safety of their ship,
rowing out to sea, they risked it all
to answer fellow sailors call.
And soon the schooner’s crew of three
were hauled into the little boat.

Tragically, in towering waves,

it swamped. They sank to watery graves.
Only one brave man survived,
hauled aboard ‘Osprey’ as he swam alongside,
George Greenall and James Abrams gave their lives.
In memory of the two who died,
we deck our Euston Park with pride.
A ballad to the bravery of all who answer, fearlessly,
cries of “those in peril on the sea”.

Adele V Robinson

[Wyre Poet in Residence 2015] 


Please give generously to the RNLI if you get the chance. Thanks for reading. Adele

 

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