{"id":1370,"date":"2008-09-07T14:32:00","date_gmt":"2008-09-07T14:32:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/ink.verticalplus.co.uk\/archive\/?p=1370"},"modified":"2008-09-07T14:32:00","modified_gmt":"2008-09-07T14:32:00","slug":"some-verbal-postcards-from-helen-pletts","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/some-verbal-postcards-from-helen-pletts\/","title":{"rendered":"Some verbal postcards from Helen Pletts"},"content":{"rendered":"

Helen Pletts now lives in Prague, in the Czech Republic, and has spent the summer battling with the twin evils of root-canal dentistry and builders. She's now about to take over teaching on a creative writing class so before she's driven completely mad, here is some observational poetry she has recently submitted…<\/span>


The New Boy<\/span>
 <\/span>
You were painting, your chair close to mine.<\/span>
I found you sheltering under my pregnant form many times,<\/span>
cowering, cleaning your brush in the water.<\/span>
Turning the clean water murky<\/span>
while holding your breath at the same time.<\/span>
Finally, you asked me<\/span>
with great delicacy, about your safety,<\/span>
if ever you were to be alone with the other staff.<\/span>
I mumbled quietly about the value of open doors<\/span>
and safety in numbers<\/span>
but looking into your eyes I knew<\/span>
you already felt their hands on you,<\/span>
on top of the marks from the last place<\/span>
and the place before that.<\/span>
(don't ever get too close, my boss said)<\/span>
So I pressed your face against the face of my unborn.<\/span>

~ ~ ~ ~ ~<\/span>

The cyclist's leg<\/span>
 <\/span>
That is what it reminded me of –<\/span>
a closed, black umbrella.<\/span>
 <\/span>
He was cycling beside the car.<\/span>
The yellow of his waistcoat<\/span>
was the first thing we saw <\/span>
– not the leg – <\/span>
which had been removed at the knee.<\/span>
 <\/span>
The other tendon, functioning;<\/span>
rippled like a bronzed stallion's haunch<\/span>
working twice as hard.<\/span>
 <\/span>
The stump –<\/span>
dressed with a black shiny staff<\/span>
tapered into the shoe;<\/span>
like a thin, polished piano-leg<\/span>
flickering sunlight through stroboscopic spokes.<\/span>
 <\/span>
And I could see him dancing to music,<\/span>
maybe Smetana,<\/span>
waltzing with that leg,<\/span>
like a real leg moves<\/span>
secretly,<\/span>
inside the leg of a dark trouser.<\/span>

~ ~ ~ ~ ~<\/span>

Travelling<\/span>
 <\/span>
You have been travelling with me for decades;<\/span>
even before you were born;<\/span>
your toothbrush next to mine in my suitcase,<\/span>
the bristles damp from the cold water in our last hotel.<\/span>
 <\/span>
I tipped the porter through your fingers;<\/span>
your napkin wiped my lower lip;<\/span>
clean, white linen you had straightened<\/span>
by your plate at dinner.<\/span>
 <\/span>
There was a fold, a crease in the napkin,<\/span>
like the gristle-spine of a chicken carcass<\/span>
springing at my touch; indelibly pressed into the fibres,<\/span>
like my laundry tags with your name on.<\/span>

~ ~ ~ ~ ~<\/span>

Builders: Czech Republic, summertime<\/span>
 <\/span>
The long hot<\/span>
stretches into the echo of dog.<\/span>
A lathe sings. Pitch brilliant<\/span>
and gilded in sunlight.<\/span>
 <\/span>
When the lathe stops<\/span>
the radio winds the dog up even more,<\/span>
but only the head<\/span>
and stretching jaws, through the gate,<\/span>
can participate.<\/span>
 <\/span>
I take out three beers<\/span>
furred with cold air from the fridge,<\/span>
I break off the caps<\/span>
'Danke'<\/span>
(They think I'm German<\/span>
 when they see my blonde hair).<\/span>
But they curl their lips<\/span>
and show me their brown teeth<\/span>
and tilt, and smile at me<\/span>
through frothed gold.<\/span>
 <\/span>
I didn't invade your country<\/span>
until now,<\/span>
(I tell them, anyway)<\/span>
and<\/span>
I didn't come in a tank.<\/span>
<\/font><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Helen Pletts now lives in Prague, in the Czech Republic, and has spent the summer battling with the twin evils of root-canal dentistry and builders. She's now about to take over teaching on a creative writing class so before she's driven completely mad, here is some observational poetry she has recently submitted…The New Boy You were […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1370","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1370","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1370"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1370\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1370"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1370"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1370"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}