greatpoetry | Entries tagged with liz lochhead

ann-septimus.livejournal.com

Fat Girl’s Confession

Roll up and see the Fat Lady!
Such a jolly sight to see.
Seems my figure is a Figure of Fun. . .
to everone but me.

Smile! Say Cottage Cheese!
You all know me -
I’m the Office Fat Girl, the one you see
Wearing Vast Dark Dresses and a Cheery Veneer . . .
And lingerie constructed by a civil engineer.

( and thus it continues )

lomedet.livejournal.com

(I thought I'd contribute to the spontaneous Liz Lochead festival of the past couple of days)

Tam Lin's Lady
Liz Lochead

'Oh I forbid you maidens a'
who wear gowd in your hair -
to come or go by Carterhaugh
for young Tam Lin is there.'

So you met him in a magic place?
O.K.
But that's a bit airy fairy for me.
I go for the specific - you could, for instance,
say that when he took you for a coffee
before he stuck you on the last bus
there was one of those horrible congealed-on
plastic tomatoes on the table. . . oh don't
ask me
I don't know why everything has to be so sordid these days. . .
I can take some sentiment -
tell me how charmed you were
when he wrote both your names and a heart in spilt coffee -
anything except that he carved them on the eldern tree.
But have it your own way.
Picking apart your personal
dream landscape of court and castle and greenwood
isn't really up to me.
So call it magical. A fair country.
Anyway you were warned.
( Read more... )

ann-septimus.livejournal.com

Poem for my Sister

My little sister likes to try my shoes,
To strut in them,
Admire her spindle-thin twelve-year-old legs
In this season’s styles.
She says they fit her perfectly,
But wobbles
On their high heels, they’re
Hard to balance.

I like to watch my little sister
Playing hopscotch, admire the neat hops-and-skips of her,
Their quick peck,
Never-missing their mark, not
Over-stepping the line.
She is competent at peever.

I try to warn my little sister
About unsuitable shoes,
Point out my own distorted feet, the callouses,
Odd patches of hard skin.
I should not like to see her
In my shoes.
I wish she could stay
Sure footed,
Sensibly shod.

~Liz Lochhead

ann-septimus.livejournal.com

Memo to Myself for Spring

April
April first you must fool me
I am no longer
Anybody’s fool.
I have danced with too many
Velvet tongued men.
I have seen too many
Plaster effigies of saints
For faith to mean much.
Hop
Is treacherous
And much to be guarded against in April.
I refuse to put out with
Any more charity –
I won’t be as mad as March in April.
April you confidence trickster,
You very practical
Practical joker –
Your clichéd burgeoning and budding
Calculated
To set me wandering in a forest of cosmetic counters’
Lyric poetry.
You urge me,
Buy a lipstick
Treat yourself to a new dress
Try again.
But April first you must fool me.
April
I fear you
May

~ Liz Lochhead

Also: Does anyone know of a poem called (I think) "Fat Girl's Love Song"? It's a contemporary Scottish poem by a woman discussing (in the first person) an overweight woman who comments on her situation as it is and then goes on a drastic diet? If anyone could help me find this, I'd be ever so obliged.

Current Mood: complacent

angry-salad-gal.livejournal.com

A fantastic poem I recommend to everyone is 'Box Room', by the Scottish poet Liz Lochhead. Unfortunately I can't seem to find it anywhere, and can't remember for the life of me where I read it first. If anybody here has it, can they please, please either post it here or on my journal.

Thanks
Rebecca

lifeisacabaret.livejournal.com

Kidspoem/Bairnsang

It wis January
and a gey dreich day
the first day I went to the school
so ma Mum happed me up in ma
good navyblue nap coat wi the rid tartan hood
birled a scarf aroon ma neck
pu'd on ma pixie and ma pawkies
it wis that bitter

said 'noo ye'll no starve'
gied me a week kiss and kidoan skelp on the bum
and sent me off across the playground
to the place I'd learn to say

'It was January
and a really dismal day
the first day I went to school
so my Mother wrapped me up in my
best navyblue top coat with the red tartan hood
twirld a scarf around my neck
pulled on my bobble-hat and mittens
it was so bitterly cold

said "now you won't freeze to death"
gave me a little kiss and a pretend slap on the bottom
and sent me off across the playground
to the place I'd learn to forget to say

"It wis January
and a gey dreich day
the first day I went to the school
so ma Mum happed me up in ma
good navyblue nap coat wi the rid tartan hood
birled a scarf aroon ma neck
pu'ed on ma pixie and ma pawkies
it wis that bitter."'

Oh, saying it was one thing
but when it came to writing it in black and white
the way it had to be said
was as if you were grown up,
posh, male, English and dead.

Liz Lochhead

Current Mood: content
Current Music: Johnny Horton - North to Alaska

ann-septimus.livejournal.com

Local Colour*

Something I'm not familiar with, the tune
of their talking, comes tumbling before them
down the stairs which (oh I forgot) it was my turn
to do again this week.
My neighbour and my neighbour's child. I nod, we're not
on speaking terms exactly.

I don't know much about her. her dinners smell
different. Her husband's a busdriver,
so I believe.
She carries home her groceries in Grandfare bags
though I've seen her once or twice around the corner
at Shastri's for spices and such.
(I always shop there - he's open till all hours
making good). How does she feel?
Her children grow up with foreign accents,
swearing in fluent Glaswegian. Her face
is sullen. Her coat is drab plaid, hides
but for a hint at the hem, her sari's
gold embroidered gorgeousness. She has
a jewel in her nostril.
The golden hands with the almond nails
that push the pram turn blue
in this city's cold climate.

~Liz Lochhead

*title changed to "Something I'm Not..." in her later collection Dreaming Frankenstein and Collected Poems.

Current Mood: lethargic
Current Music: Only Living Boy in New York - Simon and Garfunkel

ann-septimus.livejournal.com

Lady of Shalott

Fifteen or younger
she moons in the mirror.
Penny for your thoughts,
Lady of Shalott.
In her bedroom tower
with mother and father
watching TV downstairs,
she moons in the mirror
and swears she will never
lead a bloody boring life like theirs.

( you're waiting to be wanted )

Current Mood: blech

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I Eat Poetry

Entries tagged with liz lochhead

Fat Girl's Confession - Liz Lochhead

Liz Lochhead - Tam Lin's Lady

Poem for My Sister - Liz Lochhead

Memo to Myself for Spring - Liz Lochhead

(no subject)

Liz Lochhead - Kidspoem/Bairnsang

Local Colour - Liz Lochhead

Lady of Shalott by Liz Lochhead

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