'Lost Property' by Jennifer Compton - Tuesday Poem

Lost Property

Somewhere in the city

I lost the knitting

the sentimental wool

I had unpicked to reknit.

The colour scheme was alarming

but that was what my mother chose

when she was still capable of crochet

so I held my peace and flew her colours. 

I had been warned of an imminent loss

the knowledge of loss had thrummed by 

so I kept checking I had everything

one hand delving in my shoulderbag.

And more than the knitting is the pillowcase

made by my husband's mother, now deceased,

she had run it up from a summery cotton frock

with two ties at the top to keep the knitting safe.

My hands know the scarf in progress intimately

I was working away at the royal blue stripe

plain and plain and plain and plain again and turn

the yarn between my fingers running like smoke.

As I rose to leave my train at Upwey Station

a thud of portent hit me – something missing -

my soft bundle pierced by two sharp needles.

And my hands, now, disconsolate as ghosts.  

 Jennifer Compton, This City, Otago University Press, 2011.

 I've posted another poem by Jennifer on the Tuesday poem hub as I'm this week's guest editor, so I won't say much here except that this poem really resonates with me. I have lost knitting on public transport but, as in this poem, it was not the knitting itself that was the real loss. 

Congratulations to Jennifer Compton on the publication of her new book,  Now You Shall Know, Five Islands Press and many thanks  for allowing me to publish this poem and 'Like A Butterfly' on the Tuesday Poem blog this week. From this hub, you can waltz from poem to poem - enjoy.

Tuesday Poem - a dog s life

Years ago, when the Word Tree, under Marian Spires, used to run thematic readings, I was asked to feature on the subject 'insects'. I actually misheard Marian and thought she'd said 'incest' - a subject which I thought would easily provide (bleak) inspiration. I was already thinking of Greek mythology when she repeated the theme: insects. Okay, then. Back to the drawing board. At some stage in the intervening month I remembered that glorious insect poet hero - don marquis's archy - and decided I'd bring him out of retirement. I had enormous fun writing these and remain grateful that the topic wasn't incest, which could have resulted in a miserable writing month!

you can call me archy

poet blogger email correspondent

and unfortunately cockroach in this incarnation

like my ancestor the vers libre bard

and so am i boss so am i

one day you will find my file

and think archy now what can that be

and my words will scroll onto your screen

just the creative struggles of your common

cockroach on his way to a higher transmirgration

if you read this leave more food out

a poet needs more than blu stick to keep

ectoskeleton and soul together i should take up

rap like that rat in your compost but vers libre bard

i was and that i will remain you can call me

archy again

catherine bateson - with thanks to don marquis

Do you remember archy? When you've found your copy of archy and mehitabel (what edition do you have?), take a stroll over to the Tuesday Poetry Hub where Jennifer Compton, this week's editor, has posted 'Southbank', a poem by Petra White.

Tuesday Poem

Cooking for One

I rediscover omelettes

and become a fan

and everything

tastes better with harissa.

Langoustines were a labour

I’d rather do for love

although I’ve kept their claws frozen

with respect for that woman in my past

who would have cooked the stock and made the bisque.

It’s true I miss my oven like a lover

linger in the cook book section

and cruise the kitchenware at BHV –

Le Crueset reduced for summer

and all those knives.

There’s barely space to chop

in the closet that is my kitchen

and no room in my bed for anyone but me.

When you come over, we’ll have to start from scratch

as though teenagers again, holding the recipe open

with a nervous, bloodied finger

while we check ingredients

and recite the method like a prayer.

 Catherine Bateson, July 2013

Head over to the Tuesday Poem blog to get  your double-serve of poems! This week the guest curated poem is by Australian poet, Robert Gray, curated by Jennifer Compton.

In Paris We Highlight! - Tuesday Poem

Highlights

The saleswoman in the BHV matches powder

against my skin. It is, she assures me,

goldy. Then she frowns and rouges my cheeks

because in Paris we highlight.

Highlighted and powdered I cross the Seine

to hear american poetry

and take fashion notes.

The last is unofficial but I love

how people wear their poetry –

think, the young english girl

with long plaits chose blue leggings

to wear under her purple coat and I know

that she made the felt bee on her lapel.

You can always tell the transient

americans by their high-tech joggers.

French lipstick is why everyone air kisses and the men -

crumpled linen suits exuding poetic fatigue –

take polished steps right into heartbreak hotel.

There’s one red beret, an abundance of  pre-raph blondes

and a perky cloche. I’m confident no-one else notices

but the BHV saleswoman would be on my side:

The poetry is fine, I like the one about Che,

but look at your jacket - that asymmetrical zip!

I drag her away before her fingers walk down those teeth. 

She stops to highlight two wistful blondes.

Soon she will be declaiming poetry – yes

She climbs on to a concrete column

without a wobble of her stilettos

and declaims a simple list of colours

sending them like a magicians’ doves

into the heavy night air.

In Paris we highlight!

Catherine Bateson, June 2013

After you've stopped here for some sartorial poetry, hop across to the Tuesday Poem Blog by clicking here.   Jennifer Compton and  I must have been on some strange common wavelength when we started our respective poems - although hers took a completely different turn. Have a lyrical week!