/—~~~eh~~~—\
rear attic
bedroom
in
through the
smallpalepinkflowersonwhiteandbeige curtains
shaft of aslant sunlight
fanthening strip by strip along
the slighty embossed wallpaper
of the attic window alcove
until the edge of the inward-sloping
ceiling
then
I whine to be picked out of the cot
I worry the railings the catch that holds
but don’t understand
but no one comes
so I notice the walnut record player and radio
stored away and standing like a
Manhattan apartment building
/—~~~eh~~~—\
I stared at the pattern of the carpet
playing with my cars behind the settee
while my parents said
final things to each other
the twirl of the branch
a better life the
curl of a flower you’d
better go the border and
never step back in this house
again the shadow of the
leaf is also a darker green
I had never studied the pattern
before – never had to
never could – I can
work it out see
how it repeats
I think something is happening
with Mum and Dad
on the other side of the settee but
this pattern continues around
the whole carpet
only later – in bed –
was it announced what
I had already known and
only then could I ask
why does it have to
happen to us and cry
only when it was announced
only when it was expressed
I already knew but
couldn’t express
couldn’t announce only
count the patterns
drive the cars
I cried but I was numb –
pattern but beyond the settee –
I could fracture from things
just find a pattern
you’re the man of the house
now someone said to me so
I studied the pages of
black and white comicbooks
patterns of power
solving under a cowl
jumping under a cape
between the skyline and the world
I shall throw stones high
until they don’t come down
I shall dig so low that
no one could follow, no
I shall count all numbers
I shall collect all numbers
I shall discover all planets
I shall posture the heroes, no
I shall number the histories
I shall texture the music
I shall shock the lyric
I shall smell the books, no
I shall sunlight the chorus
I shall cry the biography
I shall see the image
and write them all, yes
I shall follow the curl and
twist the twirl under
moonlight all night long
then
I shall play catch in the rye
I shall alors les boulevards
I shall yin the yang
I shall surreal the fog
I shall honour my guru
I shall marry my wife
I shall father my children
I shall teach my classes
but forty two years on he had still
just left
and I still didn’t know
how to be the man
–=+
get out from behind the settee
take a seat and get comfy
say hello to everyone and just
sit
/—~~~eh~~~—\
currency of generations
‘fetch the tin of buttons’
a quest to the cupboard
by the stairwell just outside
the room we dressed in
and spent all morning
because it was warm
‘the one with the fruits’
different sorts of fruit
pastel-coloured and
marshmallowy on a tin
‘they’re petit-fours’
something to understand
later (the taste had been sugary
and pasty and although
it looked like fruit it stuck
in my throat) now has
buttons which are cool
and swirly when I run
my finger through them
and marbled-enough
to see history and boiled-
sweet transparent-enough
to see worlds themed by colour
and echo from the clothes of
real people from family aunts
and uncles in the past who
I never knew or can’t remember
the lineage from which I came
all contained in the fading shine
/—~~~eh~~~—\
up floated the printed words
lengthening shadows on the page
light rain fell
small mauve sparks
splashed from
the crack in
the bedroom window
charging my smiling brother
in yellow and blue
pyjamas laughing
in the morning sun
between thoughts
/—~~~eh~~~—\
she smiled
like a child when the sheet from the clothesline
glided down on him
through the net curtains the sun
was shining like a star
/—~~~eh~~~—\
south horizon
out on the river
the purple is shifting
but in the evening-bulb light
the world-shaping words
of grown ups
is shifting uncontrollably
but
no
it’s OK look
there is rhythm there
is a trombone a hi-hat
– shflpt –
in the crack there
where words shift
where worlds shift
/—~~~eh~~~—\
darkness
on the street
outside as
Hawaii Five-0
still played
on the tv the
orange-and-carpet light
was downstairs and
I was on the top bunk
tonight
/—~~~eh~~~—\
the figure 
in frosted glass
morning
black and white
chequered lino
and a single
cabinet
in the hall
lime air
through the door
evening
/—~~~eh~~~—\
my
corner
in the dining
room behind the
armchair by the
shelf with my own
collection of books
and comics by the
drawing of the three
stages of the Saturn
V rocket on pink wall over
black boards by the border
on the carpet edge there where
I had caught my first sight of a
monster’s face voluptuous on a
trading card the place to
find significance
/—~~~eh~~~—\
Eglinton Hill
three stages
of a Saturn V
rocket over
two pieces
of paper on
the pink wall
of the dining
room over
rubbly carpet
black boards
and books
on the shelves
with colours
and words
of worlds being
newly noticed
but not yet seen
/—~~~eh~~~—\
140 m.p.h.
checking
one by one
the speed clocks of each car
to find the highest
the Rover
by the old house
behind the trees and bushes
under a sunny breeze
heralding Springtime
/—~~~eh~~~—\
outside
after it has snowed
and the sting of older boys
throwing snowballs
/—~~~eh~~~—\
twilight
up the path
with damp leaves
on either side
it is dark
under the bushes
under the trees and
a lemon blue
sky above the
red tiles. Home
my brother watches
blackandwhite TV
in the grey room
the curtain open
and
the
con-
trast
up
/—~~~eh~~~—\
dream
290706
something was happening
and all of a sudden I was making a visit
to a house on Eglinton Hill
opposite the waste ground on the corner
with Cantwell Road
delivering Christmas presents
to Gillian S
she took her presents
started opening them
I asked if she remembered who I was
she didn’t know
and while wondering about it
she invited me in
she had lived a lifetime
since primary school
face hard-lived middle-aged
slightly overweight
but I still found her attractive
a look in her face
that was still young
she was doing the duty living life
she had two girls
she was living with her Mum who
looked like her
but a generation older
the house had its own front
but was knocked through inside
like the houses in the Beatles film
I told her who I was …
… and gradually woke up
I had wanted to suggest that we go
and look up Rajesh S
and Gary A up on Plum Lane
bring the group together again
to complete our lives
/—~~~eh~~~—\
1967
stepped out
behind the lead-lined
pediment three floors up wearing
the yellow Man from UNCLE badge
/—~~~eh~~~—\
1967
clothes were squeezed
between two rollers –
don’t put them through
too bunched up –
and the still-soapy water poured
back into the drum while
through the window
London clanked and
greyed either side of
the Thames
/—~~~eh~~~—\
two young boys
stalk around the
front square of grass
perched on the brick
posts of the wall
by the pavement going
downhill
/—~~~eh~~~—\
1969
chrome and
plastic control
turned
waiting for the
picture to warm up
the snow lay
dirty now
by the roadside
and the tree
/—~~~eh~~~—\
the start of
adolescence
red smoked-
glass shade
of the oil
lamp and
the wet –
sharp black
shadow
under the
stairs
/—~~~eh~~~—\
dream 290697
at the front garden wall of Eglinton Hill
it has been painted textured-yellow not quite finished
I own the house I am older now
my kids come out to see me I have returned home
what work has been done while I was at work
(what life went on while Dad was away)
step straight into the front room it is a kitchen now
1960s re-decorated small-flowered sunny
I go with the kids to the other rooms
how they had changed and I rose out of sleep
I described it to C the grief came up
my Dad had left I still feel the hurt I began to cry
I cannot forgive I have high expectations of everyone
proud angry and aloof
/—~~~eh~~~—\
from my childhood
untied un-navigated foggy
in the house on the hill now too big for us
out of the dreams of colours and glass
‘… need to be the Man of the House now’
something high and far-out to be
constructed reaching
on the edge of a collapsed crumbling viaduct – a society that no longer thrives
but persists – I will never succeed in building
on such a structure scared of falling
buildings too high to raise my eyes
ledges too narrow to ste- pp
hills becoming vertical as I climb
branches lurching with my weight
but this is all I know to do
this is all I have done
but then I didn’t have to be
anything other than what I was I was
sufficient as I was to be everything
that was needed to be
the Man of the House ‘the Man
of the House’ made me other
because I reached after the sublime
to be the Man of the House
I don’t know myself
I am someone who has striven
beyond himself all his life and yet
there isn’t a hidden me covered over
waiting to be found I am what I have striven
not what I have striven away from
I should accept me as I am and sit and
when the fear and failure come up accept them
when the anger and violence
come up accept them
when the reading and sublimity
come up accept them
these are the child who stood
in the garden smiling at the sun
through the branches but frozen
because they were moving
delighted but bewildered
reaching but blinded
/—~~~eh~~~—\
crows on the
chimneys
of 40/38
for a minute
the blackbird stopped
no vehicles
uphill downhill
lights went on
across the river
and each house had
the face of lifetimes
in their windows
/—~~~eh~~~—\
bench
corner of Cantwell Road
and Eglinton Hill
do I work things out when
they are tangled and knotted
do I find a way a groove
a superpower that will
see me through
like an armoured vest
no no
fifty two
years no
you pay attention
to the shade the leafgreen
behind you the breeze
between the collar and
the back of your neck
and the classic two-tone
mauve Chrysler emerge
from Nithdale Road
and turn downhill
/—~~~eh~~~—\
uphill
newly started
the silver grey exhaust
tumbles out the pipe
like dry ice but lays
flat to the road and
disappears
/—~~~eh~~~—\
291
after silence
again
the cluck of
footsteps downhill
and the sway of
plastic bags
/—~~~eh~~~—\
can’t see
46 Eglinton Hill
a small conifer
in the front corner garden
of number 48 left
to grow but ‘doesn’t
matter I can’t see
the blackbird singing
a different collect
each time
either
/—~~~eh~~~—\
from behind
the diesel car purred
slowly down the hill
then a pigeon dropped
onto the road and walked around
a bit
/—~~~eh~~~—\
forty years later
my shadow is still
stumpy before me
going downhill and
my left ear still sticks
out
noticeably
/—~~~eh~~~—\
dream
spent the morning
visiting
many parts of London kept noticing
Allen Ginsberg
on a bus
in a shop
crossing the road
slightly hunched busy
carrying papers in a wallet
maybe shopping
ordinary tired clothes
as I keep on seeing him
maybe I could give him my poems
to look at maybe I should
all of them all five hundred
no just some of them
late afternoon I am walking
down Eglinton Hill melting ice-cream light
some satisfaction with the day and
cream soda
slowly with my Nan – getting old chatting
feels like walking with Charlotte
ahead are cars
one indicating right to pull out
another waiting just behind
indicating left he’ll take his place
both waiting for another coming uphill
right of way complicated
how this all happens
another car slows downhill
before the uphill one has still to pass
he wants to park too but
he’d narrow the road cars parked
right and left
he rolls further down and parks on the right
much more space
opposite number 46
I wonder if Allen
is in the car
the car is medium blue
a good ten years old
tired but working
filled with stuff only room for the driver I think
yes it’s Allen getting out of the car
does he live here
Nan asks if Assiki is in Malta
I don’t know but say I think so
Allen hears and nods yes
as we pass – that is where Joe
or Jon have got to now travelling
go on give him your poems
don’t walk past and pretend you’re OK
give them
but I am reticent
because I don’t like to ask
fracture into the breakfast room or the upper kitchen
cluttered full of stuff
space for only one at the table
Allen has made some tea
and sits down to turn the pages
of my script
/—~~~eh~~~—\
Eglinton Hill
the end of Autumn sunlow above the hill
shining down the wet tarmac
cars drive slowly up sun visors down
upper mouth open squinting
cheekbones
the oaks have lost their leaves now
apart from the furry ivy
that clothes them
you can see more of the river
now below the branches
and while cars pull in and out of Dallin Road
when it is quiet
a young child shrieks a chasing game
in and out of the front garden
with her brother
/—~~~eh~~~—\
mlewisredford 