Friday, 10 January 2014

The Links North of Retford

And did the feet in recent times
Of blackened, tired working men,
Walk upon these hummocks, emerald green
As winter wheat grown on nitrogenous ground,
And were these gentle  undulations all around
Really slag heaps,
Dirt and nutty slack piled mound on mound?
And do the sons and daughters of such men          
Now walk in natty looking brogues,
Sporting Pringle jumpers, wide legged slacks,
To demonstrate that man is meant for leisure,
Utopia's to be found here on the earth,
In pursuit of this most mindless pleasure?
Was Oscar Wilde right simply to dismiss
The idea of the dignity of labour?
Do I really wish the mines might still exist?

 I do not have the answer to these questions,
So I asked D H Lawrence, in my head,
And as we drove past, his beard
Filled with flecks of foamy spittle
As he fumed in his confusion,
And I really can't remember what he said,
But he got his knickers in a dreadful twist.

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