Unlocking the Secrets

There’s something about a key. It teases us. It’s powerful and it seems to know how much we need it. It unlocks some answers. And keeps others hidden. 

When my grandad died at 93 he left behind a house filled with all sorts of ‘useful’ items. Born in the late 1800s he was a product of both world wars and the ‘make do and mend’ generation. Nothing was thrown away that just might come in useful. Old screws and nails; odd pieces of wood that might have been fashioned into a doorstop or filled a hole in the wall; pieces of paper with random writings; hammer heads and their broken handles; the list went on. I remember my dad and his siblings, going through drawers and cupboards and despairing of the rubbish that had been kept ‘just in case.’  

One day my dad came home with a small wooden box. He shook it and it gave a satisfying rattling sound. We wondered if it could be something of value. Jewellery, watches, old coins? Dad obviously knew what was in it. We realised it wasn’t going to be valuable by the way he was shaking his head and rolling his eyes. Slowly, he opened the lid and held out the box with a flourish. We all peered in. He turned the box over and the contents spilled out onto the table.  We stared at about fifty keys, of various shapes and sizes.  

‘I mean -,’ said my dad, still shaking his head, ‘what good are these?? They’re not labelled, there’s no clue what they’ll fit. Ridiculous.’ 

I liked the keys. I picked one up and turned it in my hand. It was small with a fancy top. I wondered what secrets of my granddad’s it had kept locked away all those years. I thought the keys were beautiful and would love to have kept them, but dad was so adamant they were a waste of space that I knew it would be pointless to ask. 

Just over a year ago my dad died, aged 92.  Going through his desk I found a small drawer that rattled. I don’t know if they were the same keys or ones that he’d collected himself but I rejoiced at the irony, the continuity, the way life goes on. And the way life goes round in circles. 

The other day, going through some old papers of my own I found a diary from when I was about eight. I can’t be precise as it’s locked, with no date on it. It’s locked, and there’s no key. I can see that key now. I can feel it’s lightness in my hand. I was aware, even at that age, that it was cheap and flimsy and could bend if twisted too far. That diary holds my sixty year old secrets. Should I try and find a key?  I pull out the secret drawer in my desk, and poke my finger in. There’s no tiny key hidden at the bottom but there are plenty of others, all with their own secrets. 

No Key to That Time by Jill Reidy

I’m eight

My life revolves around school

And friends 

Mum and dad

What’s for tea

And arguments with my brothers

Of parties

And dresses with netting

The dread of school dinners

Handstands at playtime

Perfecting French knitting

Susie, my baby whose eyes never close

Playing out on the streets 

with Iris and Edward

Penny lollies and dancing

These are my ramblings 

An eight year old's secrets

They’re locked in my diary

They’re locked in my diary

With no key to that time 

Thanks for reading........ Jill

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The Exeter Book

 by Ashley Lister

 

According to Wikipedia:

“The Exeter Book […] is a tenth-century book or codex which is an anthology of Anglo-Saxon poetry. It is one of the four major Anglo-Saxon literature codices, along with the Vercelli Book, Nowell Codex and the Cædmon manuscript or MS Junius 11. The book was donated to the library of Exeter Cathedral by Leofric, the first bishop of Exeter, in 1072. It is believed originally to have contained 131 leaves, of which the first 8 have been replaced with other leaves; the original first 8 pages are lost. The Exeter Book is the biggest known collection of Old English literature that exists today.”

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Exeter_Book

Most importantly, The Exeter Book contains some of the earliest English Language nob-gags on record. Below is is Riddle 25 from The Exeter Book, and a suggested translation:

“Ic eom wunderlicu wiht wifum on hyhte neahbuendum nyt; nægum sceþþe burgsittendra nymthe bonan anum. Staþol min is steapheah stonde ic on bedde neoðan ruh nathwær. Neþeð hwilum ful cyrtenu ceorles dohtor modwlonc meowle þæt heo on mec gripe ræseð mec on reodne reafath min heafod fegeð mec on fæsten. Feleþ sona mines gemotes seo þe mec nearwað wif wundenlocc. Wæt bið þæt eage.”

Translation

“I am a wondrous creature for women in expectation, a service for neighbours. I harm none of the citizens except my slayer alone. My stem is erect, I stand up in bed, hairy somewhere down below. A very comely peasant's daughter, dares sometimes, proud maiden, that she grips at me, attacks me in my redness, plunders my head, confines me in a stronghold, feels my encounter directly, woman with braided hair. Wet be that eye.

Answer: Onion.”

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Exeter_Book

Here’s another one.

Riddle: Swings by his thigh / a thing most magical!
          Below the belt / beneath the folds
          Of his clothes it hangs / a hole in its front end,
          stiff-set and stout / it swivels about.
          Levelling the head / of this hanging tool, 
          its wielder hoists his hem / above his knee;
          it is his will to fill / a well-known hole
          that it fits fully / when at full length
          He's oft filled it before. / Now he fills it again.
Answer: A key.

http://www.public.asu.edu/~aarios/formsofverse/furtherreading/page3.html

I mention these because, whilst it’s always interesting to see how our language has developed, and to glean various insights into the worlds our forebears inhabited, I find it wholly warming to think that, even a millennia ago, writers were scribbling out nob-gags to an audience that found them funny. It makes believe that evolution should be great when it happens to us.

Anyway, I’ve taken a shot at writing a riddle in a similar style:

Riddle:

He’s named after man parts

He tries to screw everyone in the country

People ridicule the unsightly bollocks that support him.

Even those who’ve never seen a farmyard use the word ‘cock’ in his presence.

He leads the Tory party.

Answer: 

A Penis

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il était une fois

Following on from the fantastic workshop on Saturday (at Blackpool Library), I thought I would share one of the exercises from the session.  The aim is that by following the instructions step by step you will have, in a short time, a cracking fairytale poem of which you can be proud.  This worked really well this weekend and I was incredibly impressed with the results.  I'm excited to hear the poets performing them tomorrow.

Fairytale Poem in Seven Simple Steps

Poppy: Red Riding Hood

Scissors: Rapunzel

Bone: Hansel and Gretel

Key: Bluebeard

Sock: Emperor’s New Clothes

Beans: Jack and the Beanstalk

Pile of ash: Cinderella

Gold thread: Rumpelstiltskin

Wooden needle: Sleeping Beauty

1) Choose an object from the list above.  The corresponding character/story is the subject of your poem.  Take 5 minutes to come up with as many likenesses for that object as you can, e.g. poppy = flame, scissors = bird, bone = flute etc.

2) Write two lines of poetry, with eight syllables in each, to describe your main character in relation to the object.  Rhyming is optional.  Eg. you might have Red picking the flowers or the witch sharpening the scissors.

3) Take a scene from the story and write three examples of sensations you might encounter there, e.g. If your scene involves Sleeping Beauty encountering the wicked fairy at the spinning wheel:

A smell – e.g. fresh linen, damp forest, boiled sweets

A sound – e.g. creaking wood, birds outside, her heartbeat

A texture – e.g. coarse wool, polished wood, stone walls

A taste – e.g. metallic air, honey, blood

A sight – e.g. skeins of thread, open window, stone floor

4) Write two lines of poetry, with eight syllables in each, using the same scene from your story, and including some of the elements you’ve imagined above.

5) Stories and poems which include strong visual imagery are more likely to be retained by the reader.  Use visualisation to put yourself in the scene and make it vivid for yourself.  If you can see what you’re describing you’re more likely to be able to make it clear for the readers.

• Imagining the scene from your story, what is the strongest emotion?
• Think of an animal/element to represent that emotion
• Place that animal/element in a scene of its own
• Think of an action for that animal/element to carry out

6) Write four lines of poetry with eight syllables in each line following the pattern:

Line 1: Character and emotion

Line 2: Animal/element

Line 3: Scene/background

Line 4: Action

7) Return to the object.  Write two lines with eight syllables to describe the object again but reflecting on what’s happened in the scene, e.g. the flower might have fallen to the ground or the key be stained with blood.

You should be left with a ten line poem.  This exercise can take between 15 minutes and several hours depending on how much time you want to spend on the imaginative exercises and re-writing.  Have fun with it, play with it.  Share it.

The Dead Good Poets are meeting at 6pm at the No5 Cafe, Cedar Square, Blackpool.  It's a family friendly evening on the theme of children's poetry.  As usual, it's open mic and all are welcome to read.  We'd be delighted if you would join us.

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