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66 pages

English

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"Gamble's poetry is humorous, philosophical and honest. His poetry lifts you up, and slams you down with just as much enthusiasm. This is accomplished work." Paul Raine, editor of Poetic Review. This is poetry. Without academic rules and guidelines. Words that can be plucked from life and held up to shine as something unique, and a gem that perfectly captures a truth. The truth of the matter is that we all write poems. At school we write poems. When we first fall in love we write poems and later on for other loves too. When someone we cherish decides to leave the stage, we write poetry. When in hard and difficult times we do the same. And sometimes, right in the middle of thought or conversation, we surprise ourselves by the sudden conjuring up of a turn-of-phrase that stands out above the rest as being rhythmic, maybe rhyming, and certainly very pertinent. Poetry is a stolen five minutes away from the crowd, the office, the computer, the phone, the expectations and the obligations. It's like a quick and passionate kiss with a love - exciting, reassuring, rebellious and true. It pierces the heart of the wider world but strangely is pointed directly at you. There indeed is a future for it in our busy, uncertain times. So weigh anchor, look around you, share a glimpse, a thought, and a moment that maybe you have already lived and never dared to capture.

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Publié par	eBookPartnership.com
Date de parution	14 octobre 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781783015450
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

All rights Tom Gamble 2014
The right of Tom Gamble to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Design and patents Act 1988.
Published by eBookPartnership.com
First published in eBook format in 2014
ISBN: 978-1-78301-545-0
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author. Any person who undertakes any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
eBook Conversion by www.ebookpartnership.com
Author s blog: http://tomgambleauthor.blogspot.fr/
Readers comments
What I like about Tom Gamble s poetry is the down-to-earth feel that you can identify with the scenes, the people, the moods, the optimism and the pessimism. It s readable poetry, but that s not to say it s light. You can understand it and wish you could have written it yourself. It has a Ken Loach touch to it. He has the power of observation and the gift of expressing it.
Daphne Chisholm-Elie.
Poetic Review magazine
Gamble s poetry is humorous, philosophical and honest. The attentive voyeurism, and imaginative characterisation in Apple Tree Eva , The Shadow Boxer , and Couple on Ramsgate breakwater , captures simple yet profound snippets of human nature. Through these people and places, Gamble leads us to where beauty can still be found, if you only look hard enough.
As well as humour, there is tragedy, in the introspective Kids and the depths of desolation in The bridge at Epinay . Then from the gritty friction of real life , to somewhere magical and metaphorical in The Time I Lie Down with Life . His diction is rich and varied: vivid panoply , ochre sun , slag days . His rhyme scheme is scarcely clumsy, but rhythmic, and deployed not for the sake of rhyme, but for the sake of emphasis. He has a clear understanding of other poetic effects, such as alliteration, and how, and when, to use them for the best impact. His poetry lifts you up, and slams you down with just as much enthusiasm. I would compare Gamble to Larkin due to their use of gritty realism, intelligent vocabulary, and eloquent turn of phrase, used to subdue, and then shock the reader. This is accomplished work.
Paul Raine , Editor
Contents
Readers Comments
Author s Preface
Picture this - a word on the poem as a pebble
Life
Serendip
Birthday
The Inevitable Hoover
To the Single
A Dad s-eye View
The Kids
You are, We are, They
We
I Saw an Angel
The Wild Rose
Detail
Revolutions
The Bridge at Epinay
Clueless
Magpie
September
The Message
The Time I Lie Down with Life
Love
Hectic spring
Eyelid on the Spiritual
La Parisienne
The Song that Comes with You
The Morning Gift
What Cannot Be Said
You (the northern bay)
Moy Woife
A Day in March
Perspective
Couple on Ramsgate Break Water
When All Has Been Eaten
A Season s End
Promises
The Mirror
When Men Go - Paris in October
People and Places
The Harvesters
Was it a True Story?
The Estuary
Apple Tree Eva
Continental Breakfast
Night Time for Categories B C
On a Corner, in the Suburbs
In Red Shadows
Shadow Boxer
A Fleeting Desire to Kiss Ms Crisp
An Artist, 11th Quarter, Paris
You Will Be a Man
Shop Window, winter
Crossroads at St Denis
April s Fool
Camden
The Night-watchmen
Author s preface
I love poetry. I love writing. I wouldn t call myself a poet or my poems poetry ! But sometimes, reading through, the reader might find one of two which would almost do.
The truth of the matter is that we all write poems. At school we write poems. When we first fall in love we write poems and later on for other loves too. When someone we cherish decides to leave the stage, we write poetry. When in hard and difficult times we do the same. And sometimes, right in the middle of thought or conversation, we surprise ourselves by the sudden conjuring up of a turn-of-phrase that stands out above the rest as being rhythmic, maybe rhyming, and certainly very pertinent.
This is poetry. Without academic rules and guidelines. Words that can be plucked from life and held up to shine as something unique, and a gem that perfectly captures a truth. Some poets - the ones I love anyway - manage to give us just this, these perfectly captured moments of truth: Mary Oliver, Douglas Dunn, Marc Nolan, Dylan Thomas, Manly-Hopkins, Yeats, Kavanagh, Keith Douglas and Jo Shapcott among others. And I d like to add the master songsmiths Bob Dylan and Paul Weller to that list too.
They do not make it difficult. They do not attempt to justify their craft, or even belittle us by intricate and unfathomable words and images. They are what I d call the true poets. They know that poetry is picking up a diamond and offering it to all. And I believe there s a future in it. A poem is a page, if that. A stolen five minutes away from the crowd, the office, the computer, the phone, the expectations and the obligations. It s like a quick and passionate kiss with a love - exciting, reassuring, rebellious and true. It pierces the heart of the wider world but strangely is pointed directly at you.
Picture this
Poems are like pebbles on a beach. There you are strolling at the water s edge in a moment of blessed escape, of Sunday peace or a stolen moment of holiday and you re blissfully unaware that you are happy. As you meander along your eyes lift from the pebbles to the sky, the horizon, a boat hoisting sails in the distance and back again to the beach. Your regard returns to them, the hundreds and thousands of nature s litter and for the instance one looks much the same as the other. But then, for sure, you ll stumble across one that makes you stop. You ll bend low, pick it up and your mind s eye will straight away say: Fabulous! This is fabulous!
It feels just the right weight in the palm of your hand and the colour looks rare, looks lovely. You ll examine it from various angles. You ll hold it up to the sky s light and see how it shines. And you ll judge it to be a very fine piece indeed, just made for you to find. Yours .
This is the sort of stone, the kind of poem, that you ll pocket. It came to you as much as you came to it. And you ll take it home and put it on your shelf where it will stay for many years and sometimes even a lifetime.
And during this time you ll show it to your friends, direct conversation to it when remembering good times, sad times, and during those delicious explorations into philosophy that any age or experience permit. But most of all you ll love it when alone. When, sipping a cup of tea behind your window as winter batters away outside, you ll step towards the pebble-poem on your shelf and pick it up. Maybe, after a few years, you ll begin to take it as being nothing particularly fancy compared to other things you ve discovered on the way. But it s unique. It was a moment. And with you it has travelled far. It simply accepts you and you accept it. In the end, you realise that it loves you, just as you love it. And you decide to write it a poem.
When all is cold, these words burn
When all is lost, poetry warms
When all is lost, poetry warm TG
To Maurice Henry Gamble
Life
Serendip
When you come, usually brusque in step
With a smile and the way you have of stooping slightly
Forwards through the finishing tape to the future,
So the magic begins.
It startles me - these sudden magpies and their ritual dance,
The unexpected opening of doors and sunshine just on us.
And why should everything reveal an interest,
The mundane uncover such wild and wonder?
It is the beginning, I know - but it still enchants.
We have not touched, just talked.
And yes, you old, ageless conspiracy -
You ve hooked us on a lovely spell.