{"id":1421,"date":"2021-06-29T16:10:15","date_gmt":"2021-06-29T15:10:15","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/oxfordquaker.com\/newsletter\/?page_id=1421"},"modified":"2022-01-09T09:30:52","modified_gmt":"2022-01-09T09:30:52","slug":"two-poems-by-david-gill","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/oxfordquaker.com\/newsletter\/july-2021\/two-poems-by-david-gill\/","title":{"rendered":"Two Poems by David Gill"},"content":{"rendered":"
\r\n
\r\n Editor’s note: Irene Gill has attended Headington Meeting for several years, and has recently become a member. Her late husband David was, as his Guardian obituary<\/a> highlighted, ‘a poet, teacher and lifelong activist for peace and justice’. Rene has given permission for us to publish several of his poems. Here are just two from a large and beautiful collection.<\/em>
\n\r\n <\/div>\r\n <\/div>\n

My Mother and the Chair-O-Plane<\/h2>\n

David Gill<\/strong><\/p>\n

Nine-tenths rational, my mother. She kept her feet on the ground
\nand trod the worn grass circle of her days
\nwithout complaint. With her, precision and love
\nwere one. Like the clothes she spilled from her sewing machine.
\nShe loved us severally with a warm intelligence.
\nShe believed in calculating little pleasures.
\nGive her a map, no matter how threadbare or smudged,
\nand she would predict from thumbprint contours and symbols
\nthe happy valleys, the quiet spinneys, and all
\nthe finest views to drink with thermos tea.
\nShe was Thomas Cook\u2019s best apprentice at planning visits.
\nShe revelled in time-tables. She could co-ordinate
\narrivals and departures in the smallest print.
\nHer family was her private Welfare State.
\nWe were her planned economy.<\/p>\n

But on Bank Holidays when the fair came round,
\nshe almost ran, her handbag stuffed with shillings,
\nto be with the swinging boats and dodg\u2019em cars
\nand ride the whiff of sausages at dusk.
\nAnd always we would trail her to the heart
\nof all the fun and find the chair-o-plane.
\nAnd there with beating hearts we watched her mount
\nand hang aloft in chains, intent, remote,
\nbefore the music reared and round she swept
\nand passing us, passing us by till we stood like orphans.
\nAt last the organ died, and she drifted round
\nto inherit us once again, her smile still warm
\nfrom a wild and private journey.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>
Photo by SL Granum<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
\n

The Vanishing Trick<\/h2>\n

(Written when the diagnosis of dementia was confirmed.<\/em>)<\/p>\n

David Gill<\/strong><\/p>\n

Don\u2019t take me for permanent.
\nDon\u2019t think I\u2019m a monument
\naccreting grey lichen.
\nDon\u2019t think I\u2019m a totem
\nwith creosoted root.<\/p>\n

Don\u2019t think I\u2019m a stayer.
\nI\u2019m more of a Friday afternoon
\na smile on a moped
\nat knocking-off time.
\nI\u2019m the last day of September.
\nI\u2019m the instinct that ranges
\nswallows on phone wires.
\nI\u2019m the mellow sunset
\nfor every muster,
\nan evasive mister,
\nan easy-going fellow
\nfleeing over stubble fields
\nin my own evening light
\nto the western ferries.<\/p>\n

When I greet you these days,
\nmy faithful, my on-going friends,
\nmy eyes are saying goodbye.
\nWhen you take me for the man
\nI was yesterday,
\nyou\u2019re mistaken.
\nI\u2019m half that man,
\nand running out fast.<\/p>\n

You\u2019ve little idea
\nhow much of me\u2019s gone
\nwith the autumn flights
\nto other lands.
\nMy thoughts are already abroad
\nIn foreign railway compartments:
\nalready they wear the rags
\nof foreign words.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m the ring-stain
\nwhere the glass was,
\na cat-smile, no more
\nabove the garden wall,
\na fading shape in an archway,
\na raised arm on a distant quayside<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Previous Article<\/a><\/td>\nNext Article<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

Back to July 2021 Newsletter Main Page<\/a><\/p>\n

Forty-Three<\/em> Newsletter \u2022 Number 507 \u2022 July 2021
\n<\/strong>Oxford Friends Meeting
\n43 St Giles, Oxford OX1 3LW<\/p>\n

newsletter@oxfordquakers.org<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

My Mother and the Chair-O-Plane David Gill Nine-tenths rational, my mother. She kept her feet on the ground and trod the worn grass circle of her days without complaint. With her, precision and love were one. Like the clothes she spilled from her sewing machine. She loved us severally with a warm intelligence. She believed … Continue reading Two Poems by David Gill<\/span> →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":50,"featured_media":0,"parent":1404,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1421","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/oxfordquaker.com\/newsletter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1421","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/oxfordquaker.com\/newsletter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/oxfordquaker.com\/newsletter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/oxfordquaker.com\/newsletter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/50"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/oxfordquaker.com\/newsletter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1421"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/oxfordquaker.com\/newsletter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1421\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1529,"href":"https:\/\/oxfordquaker.com\/newsletter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1421\/revisions\/1529"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/oxfordquaker.com\/newsletter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1404"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/oxfordquaker.com\/newsletter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1421"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/oxfordquaker.com\/newsletter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1421"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/oxfordquaker.com\/newsletter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1421"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}