(Enrolling at an adult education writing course run by Southampton University was rather like joining a golf club: I had to 'write my self in' and produce a sample of my work to get onto the course. Enthusing over the prologue of a novel on which I had embarked, I made that my submission. Martin Corrick, my tutor, was so far from impressed by it that he suggested I tried some poetry instead. The subjects he gave me seemed, to me, a would be novelist, singularly unappetising: A wheelbarrow and a teapot. Both are included here; and all I can say about them is that I was given a place on the course.)

Adam's yoke, with handles smooth and shining,
Cooper's wheel in squeaky need of oiling,
Polished ash, made smoother by the using,
Callused hands from endless hours of toiling,
Wheelbarrow, trundling to the flower show,
Bearing bigger marrows for the judging:
Village fete, bustle, extravaganza,
Cream teas served on vicarage veranda.

Rusted bolts hold baulks of splintered timber,
Planking worn by countless years of labour,
Frames of ash made strong and yet still stronger,
By adze and axe and awl and twisting auger,
Wheeling marrows, drumming over cobbles,
Bigger marrows, better than his rivals',
To the fete and vicious competition:
Prizes for your owner's dedication.

 

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