Homework W/E February 1, 2016: Iceberg Rose

[David Campbell]

Only one prompt used here, but the image resonated.

Iceberg Rose

© David Campbell, 19/01/16

I gave my love an Iceberg rose,
perchance
to say:
“In life’s slow dance
I bless each day
that moment long ago you chose
to honour me
with love and trust,
as lifelong partners surely must,
and hope that even then you saw
below the surface of that callow youth
to find the deeper, hidden truth
that could, in time, give so much more
to all that we might ever be.”

[Shelley Hansen]

Just beautiful, David! An unusual rhyme scheme that works so well and those last five lines are such a succinct summing up of the love that grows and blossoms over time.

Cheers
Shelley

[Neville Briggs]

Well done David. I'm not sure about the iceberg rose, sounds a bit too much like the old cold shoulder the red rose is more passionate but then Robbie Burns has already taken that one.

[Heather]

Lovely David.

[Maureen K Clifford]

The iceberg rose is a beautiful rose though Neville - it blooms profusely, is very hardy in even cold climates, is easy to care for with no foibles and was named the Rose of the Century - it is a bit like a good marriage - it stands strong despite adversity

Your poem is delightful David - any woman's heart would be deeply moved by it.

[David Campbell]

Thanks all! Just liked the idea that so much of an iceberg is below the surface.

Yes Shelley, it is unusual, in fact it's not really a rhyme 'scheme' as such, not in the ABAB sense, anyway. It's another example of what we discussed extensively a couple of years ago in "Are there limits to metre and rhyme?" (Now lurking in the Doovalakki Threads.) I kicked that off with this verse:

He sits each day
on the veranda,
matchstick thin,
weathered skin
stretched taut
on brittle bones; hands that wander,
flutter
like broken-winged birds,
sometimes caught
as if to pray. Vacant eyes
mirror a wasteland; he cries
for what is lost, the sounds he utters
no longer words.
She hovers, and sighs,
recalling the lovers
of forty years in bitter tears,
now come to naught.

Certainly not traditional ballad form in either poem, but the flexibility does open up interesting possibilities. It's the sort of approach that Matt explores regularly with great effect.

Cheers
David

[Shelley Hansen]

Very powerful, David - and I really like the structure experimentation that you and Matt (and others) regularly explore.

I always remember a poem I read as a child - I loved it and it stayed with me. It is by the late Australian poet Elsie Pearson who specialised in writing verse about everyday domestic life, always including some wise philosophy and often a good dose of common sense.

This poem has unusual rhyme and unconventional rhythm. At first you think it is free verse and then rhyme is introduced. It dates from the days of capitalisation of each line, and here it is exactly as I read it in a book of verse from the 1960s ...

Aftermath
(c) Elsie Pearson

There is no poetry at all
In dregs of tea,
In crumb-strewn plates,
In sticky knives that drip
Gold pools of treacle on my nice white cloth;
In sugar clinging wetly to the rim
Of sugar basin, salt congealed in dim
Crystal salt-shakers, or in spoons
Dropped careless on the floor,
Or in crust moons
Left over from a piece of buttered toast.
And yet I'd boast
Of strange contentment in this aftermath
Of cold left-overs, bits of pudding rice,
And smile to hear across the kitchen table,
"Oh mummy! that was nice!"

[Catherine Lee]

This is such a beautiful poem David, and I love the way you've used the image of the iceberg in relation to the relationship with the depoth that was 'below the surface of that callow youth'. As Maureen says, this does indeed touch and move the heart.

[David Campbell]

Thank you, Catherine!

I'm not familiar with Elsie Pearson's work, Shelley, but that example makes her well worth following up! Thanks for posting it.

Cheers
David

[Shelley Hansen]

David, I'm so sorry for the late response to your post.

For you and anyone else interested in following up, here is a link to a digitised copy of Elsie Pearson's book "A Housewife's Poems". It can be downloaded and saved, or printed.

http://digital.slv.vic.gov.au/view/acti ... ePid2=true

I discovered her poetry through the ABC Radio Queensland Hospital Hour hosted in the 1960s by Garry Ord. Mum would listen avidly to this program which was broadcast around 9 am on weekdays, and I listened during the school holidays. Garry loved poetry and championed the works of many Australian writers, including bush balladeers as well as "housewife" poets like Elsie. These poems all helped to water the seeds of my poetic devotion.

Cheers, Shelley