The weather’s been warming up here lately. Today I enjoyed an ice-cream (two-scoops: one honeycomb caramel and the other tropical sorbet – NOM!) in the market square with a friend in my summer dress. In recent weeks, I’ve been forced to dig out my sunglasses (oversized, retro red), my mum bought me some gorgeous flowers …
I bought some sandals (at last – I’ve been looking for the past three summers!) …
And I’ve been teaching in classrooms with the windows wide open. Yes, we’re definitely inching towards summer.
This time of year always reminds me of one of my favourite poems of all time, and it just so happens that I recently taught a class on it. I thought I’d share it here with you.
My top tip – read it out loud to yourself.
Work and Play
The swallow of summer, she toils all the summer,
A blue-dark knot of glittering voltage,
A whiplash swimmer, a fish of the air.
But the serpent of cars that crawls through the dust
In shimmering exhaust
Searching to slake
Its fever in ocean
Will play and be idle or else it will bust.
The swallow of summer, the barbed harpoon,
She flings from the furnace, a rainbow of purples,
Dips her glow in the pond and is perfect.
But the serpent of cars that collapsed on the beach
Disgorges its organs
A scamper of colours
Which roll like tomatoes
Nude as tomatoes
With sand in their creases
To cringe in the sparkle of rollers and screech.
The swallow of summer, the seamstress of summer,
She scissors the blue into shapes and she sews it,
She draws a long thread and she knots it at the corners.
But the holiday people
Are laid out like wounded
Flat as in ovens
Roasting and basting
With faces of torment as space burns them blue
Their heads are transistors
Their teeth grit on sand grains
Their lost kids are squalling
While man-eating flies
Jab electric shock needles but what can they do?
They can climb in their cars with raw bodies, raw faces
And start up the serpent
And headache it homeward
A car full of squabbles
And sobbing and stickiness
With sand in their crannies
That pours from the foxgloves
While the evening swallow
The swallow of summer, cartwheeling through crimson,
Touches the honey-slow river and turning
Returns to the hand stretched from under the eaves -
A boomerang of rejoicing shadow.
Whatever the season is where you are, I hope you’re enjoying it.