William Blake

Poetry and Protest

Poetic Beats

Welcome to this week’s Poetic Beats with Howard Bond and Davy D, recorded on the 12th of March 2018 on Red Kite Radio.

Protest has always provided a form of non-violent protest for poets and Davy D’s poem, Because, offers words to highlight the urbanisation and destruction of the countryside taking place in the UK. Throughout history poets such as John Clare, William Blake and Christina Rossetti have all written poetry as a form of protest. These and the Russian poet, Irina Ratushinskaya, who in 1983 was sentenced to five years hard labour for writing poetry deemed to create anti-Soviet agitation and propaganda, are discussed in this episode of Poetic Beats.

If you have difficulty listening to the programme a text version of the poem is included after the sound bar.

To hear this episode of Poetic Beats please press the arrow to the left of the sound bar below.

 

 

Because

 

near a concrete verge, a snowdrop

bows to the North Wind. An act of

defiance against minds immersed in

roadway oblivion. inside the aperture,

carbon white sits against a cold day

sprinkled on winter soil. the camera

 

sure in its capture of a new order.

above the din, can anyone hear the

robin sing, or the mindless torture

of scraped earth? the run of a nib

must carry more than the cold

blood from a profiteer’s core.

 

© Davy D 2018

#BeastFromTheEast

Beast From the East

It’s the first day of calendar Spring and the UK is in crisis. I’m not talking about Brexit, it is much more serious. We are in the grip of a visit from The Beast From The East. Schools have been closed, flights and train journeys cancelled and there have been reports of hand to hand fighting in supermarkets as traumatised Brits rush to stockpile food for the impending doom.

Although the slight covering of snow sitting on the grass outside of the Poetry Den have left me a little perplexed as to the hysteria, watching and listening to the news bulletins provides plenty of material for the poet.  Which brings me to the focus for today’s Thursday Thoughts, Spring Poetry.

Spring provides so much for the poet to write about. The beautiful blooms of snowdrops set against dark soil, the gold tinge of daffodil stalks about to bloom; and the sudden change of pace of the Robins, Blackbirds and Thrush in preparation for the mating season.

There have been many wonderful poems written about Spring and I thought I would share one of mine, To Spring, by William Blake. I would love you to share your favourite Spring Poem (maybe one you have written yourself) in the comments section to this post. The beast is forecast to hit our village over the next few days and I might need some uplifting Spring poetry to raise my spirits. And to accompany having to break into the emergency rations of Malbec and chocolate.

 

To Spring

 

O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down

Through the clear windows of the morning, turn

Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,

Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!

 

The hills tell one another, and the listening

Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turn’d

Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth

And let thy holy feet visit our clime!

 

Come o’er the eastern hills, and let our winds

Kiss thy perfumèd garments; let us taste

Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls

Upon our lovesick land that mourns for thee.

 

O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour

Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put

Thy golden crown upon her languish’d head,

Whose modest tresses are bound up for thee.

 

William Blake.

 

 

Poet in Radio Shocker

Davy D Hijacks the Radio

Warning the following post contains some shameful advertising.

There hasn’t been much thinking going on this week because I have spent most of it in a wild state of panic.

Visitors to this blog will know over the last six months I have become a bit of a diva / luvvie and  taken Inside the Mind of Davy D onto the airwaves, with the Poetic Beats project on my local radio station. Well, guess what?……… they have only let me take over the radio station completely for two hours this Saturday.  I REPEAT….. they have only let me take over the radio station for two hours this Saturday. I know, it’s bonkers, on a par with Donald Trump taking over the Whitehouse.

The past week has been devoted to fine tuning my favourite poems and selecting some of my all-time favourite songs creating a mixture of excitement and full on fear in the Davy D household. Mrs D and the fish have moved into the garden shed and are refusing to return until it’s all over.

There will be a Will-i-am fest with poems from William Wordsworth, William Blake and William Butler Yeats, with a few Davy D rhymes thrown in, backed by some excellent tracks (I would say that wouldn’t I?)

So why not come and join me this Saturday, the 3rd of February, between 12.00pm and 14.00pm GMT. I know most of you are outside the reception area, but you can get it on the internet by following this link at Red Kite Radio.

Please tune in, the radio studio can be a lonely place.

To Winter

Poetic Beats

Welcome to this week’s Poetic Beats with Howard Bond and Davy D, recorded on the 22nd of January 2018 on Red Kite Radio.

In this show we read and analyse William Blake’s poem, To Winter. Blake was a poet who was shunned by the establishment at the time, becoming the voice of the working class. His claims of being a mystic had him labelled as a madman. He died in poverty but left art and poetry that has gone on to inspire many people. One such was rock musician Patti Smith and we discuss how William Blake’s influence provided the foundation for many of her hits, including Because the Night.

If you have difficulty listening to the programme, a text version of the poem is included after the sound bar.

To hear this week’s Poetic Beats please press the arrow to the left of the sound bar below.

 

 

To Winter

O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors:

The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark

Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs

Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.

 

He hears me not, but o’er the yawning deep

Rides heavy; his storms are unchain’d, sheathed

In ribbed steel; I dare not lift mine eyes;

For he hath rear’d his scepter o’er the world.

 

Lo! now the direful monster, whose skin clings

To his strong bones, strides o’er the groaning rocks:

He withers all in silence, and in his hand

Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life.

 

He takes his seat upon the cliffs, the mariner

Cries in vain. Poor little wretch! that deal’st

With storms; till heaven smiles, and the monster

Is driven yelling to his caves beneath Mount Hecla.

 

William Blake