Two scenes of urban confusion, and two moons: the Seventh Moon for the salmon fishing in Canada, and the Harvest Moon in Wales – indeed in Welsh, with an English translation by the author. The poets are Tony Lewis-Jones, Judith Taylor, Margaret Gillies Brown and Evan John Jones. The season is mostly summer and the weather warm. Although there are economic stresses in the first poem and puzzlement over council craziness in the second, the other two poems turn to the moons for knowledge, mythology and comfort.
Thanks everyone and we’d like Your poems, from anywhere in the world, next time. They don’t even have to be in English if you can provide your own translations.
Make sure all work is your copyright.
(email to sally evans 35 at gmail dot com)
‘Say not the struggle naught availeth…’
Living on £10 a day,
Scratching around for work –
While the rich, for all their comforts,
Have their own issues also –
All that money is a burden on the rising soul.
We are apart, but close
In a way that I don’t really understand –
A couple of lines on the email will conjure you,
Genie-like, into my life.
If only all problems were solved so easily,
As the picket-lines form again –
And bitterness and pain are our inheritance –
Still there is no breakthrough, no advance.
First published on The Writer’s Cafe website, 2013.
Even the Council
tries to teach me moral lessons,
planting tulips in window-boxes
high on the side of the Hall.
Yeah, yeah, I know: look up.
Look at the sky between the buildings,
not the pavements leading me back to work.
The tulips opened above my head.
I never saw them.
One night at the end of their lives
stripped them, and I walked to town
next morning on a carpet of petals:
bruised crimson, streaked and dirtied gold.
From the author’s first pamphlet, Earthlight (Aberdeen: Koo Press 2006)
Margaret Gillies Brown
“The early runs are there on the seventh moon.”
The line aspires to greatness
penned by some poet
but this factual talk of fishermen
describes one aspect
of a particular breed of salmon.
It’s all to do with moons – full moons.
All salmon make major moves on them.
If the first moon of the year is early
the runs will be early.
Sockeye of the Fraser river,
that grow through the Blackfish Sound,
salmon like no other,
are red transcendence on the full moon tides
of the seventh moon – always.
After fifty years of
this is the knowledge.
first published Poetry Scotland n0 31
Evan John Jones
Lleuad Fedi, naw nos olau,
Tylwyth Teg ar hyd y cloddiau,
ninnau’n ifanc a dibryder
efo’n dyddiau i gyd o’n blaenau.
Leuad Fedi uwch ein heinioes,
Hydref wedi cyrraedd eisioes;
dim ond Gaeaf sydd i ddilyn
a gweld colli ffrindiau cyfoes.
Harvest Moon, nine nights of daylight,
Fairies dancing in our campsite,
and we.so young an full of fun,
with all our living to be done.
Harvest Moon, still there above us,
Autumn’s here and days are parlous,
Winter’s coming and not much fun,
rememb’ring friends who have moved on.
First published in Poetry Cornwall No. 37, then in
The Triumph of Love Cestrian Press 2014.