Poetry and Music
If you have been keeping up with me, you will know that I am on the road to a Masters in Creative Writing in Manchester. During the term, I became involved with something called the Rosamund Prize, which is a collaboration been postgraduate composer students in the Royal Northern College of Music and postgraduate poet students at Manchester Metropolitan University. The upshot was a piece jointly created with Nate Chivers, a PhD student from the US. It was performed at a competitive concert at the end of April. It was an amazing experience and I am so pleased with the result. So, if you click on the link below, you should see the performance. I have also added the original poem which is on a previous page but here it is again I hope you enjoy listening to and watching. Enjoy, share and send back some feedback.
At the French Italian Border
The young French cellist holds
his 17th century Stradivarius gently by its neck,
rechecks its tuning. Eyes sparkling,
face handsome, smooth, attractive,
fashionable evening shadowed chin.
Taking a deep breath, holding it,
he scans the dressing room one last time.
A young African man slinks along the station,
wearing a wrecked bomber jacket,
old shirt, torn jeans, broken running shoes.
He has a look of permanent hunger,
backpack looks surprisingly light,
presuming a journey from who knows
where over who knows how long.
The cellist acknowledges the applause
from the full house, takes his place
on the elevated platform,
places his precious instrument precisely
and carefully on its spike, steadies himself,
readies his bowing hand, fingers the strings.
He nods to the conductor.
The young man moves like a shadow,
lingers beside the train door,
notes the Polizii positioned along the station.
The whistle blows, doors begin to close.
He checks one last time, leaps aboard,
moves swiftly along the carriage,
finds a seat, drops in, crouches low.
Peter Clarke
November 2018
Phil
10.06.2019 13:21
Lovely piece, very nicely worked. Congrats, Peter!
Marguerite Colgan
05.06.2019 05:27
Catching the moment by the neck, what's at hand. Wow you're doing it, Peter. Wonder-full
Clíodhna
03.06.2019 20:25
STUNNING Peter! What a fantastic piece! Wonderful performance!
Latest comments
25.11 | 22:15
Grief is experience through the mundane. Simple but powerful. The accompanying image really compliments the poem.
07.11 | 11:14
Hi Peter,
A great observation! Social media can be a scary place... I also need to reduce my time there
Hugs,
John.x
06.11 | 16:24
A great one, Peter, in the context you describe. I don't read social media myself, I doubt my equilibrium could stand it. 'The balance of his mind disturbed' yes, I think it would be.
06.11 | 15:59
Yes, gossip is a weapon of mass destruction.
In my business as well as personal life I have zero tolerance.
Echoes of the Old on the New Battlefields
Warrior chiefs of the GAA were early on the field to prepare:
Posts and cones positioned to mark territories
Very young novices came later by parents’ chariots
clad and shod for the ensuing battles
Firstly, paced for speed, resilience and flexibility,
then marked off into opposing teams
Each warrior chief led a young squad of hopefuls
in further exercises to bring them to fit levels
There followed a huddle, an exhortation rant,
responded with clamour of intent and enthusiasm
Skirmishes began, speed across the field, hunt for the ball,
to be delivered as the goal, or to be prevented at all costs
Warrior chiefs egged on, instructed, altered the field of play
the young ’uns complied with fighting spirit
For every fall and hurt spells were cast on the side line
till fitness returned and they were entered back into play
Scores mounted, roars enhanced, casualties grew,
novices flagged and regrouped across the fields
Between bouts came the talks of encouragement
Stay back, pass, pass, pass, keep the pace.
Old hands passing skill onto new palms with dedication,
a gift of generous wisdom gladly given
Peter Clarke
20th April 2024