(Re-)Living History by Georgie Lorimer

Mr M of Telford

In a break from my usual topic of National Trust properties, a good friend of mine, Georgie Lorimer, has asked me to showcase her latest publication; (Re-)Living History: songs of Appleby, a collection of short poems based on the Sir John Moore Foundation in Appleby Magna, Leicestershire.

(Re-)Living History is a collection of poems that explores the history of Appleby Magna, a village in Leicestershire, and of the Sir John Moore Foundation, a Grade 1 listed building dating back to the 17th Century, tracing the history of human settlements in the area.

The collection was commissioned as part of a lottery grant to improve outreach to young members of society. The programme, which unfortunately ended prematurely, included a gallery opening, featuring a film to which the ‘haresteps’ poems were to be an accompaniment. Following the programme’s end, WordsmithHQ, an online creative platform and community, which publishes online and in…

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Book III – The Artist’s Kintsukuroi – 2:6

Emyr
I do remember you
even if you could not believe this painting
would ever hold any lingering truth
whilst you were still alive

the free boys still come to view your canvas
drawn like pilgrims in need of promise
still able to find your effortless
beauty beneath the witherings of pain
and wastelands

I began your face before the virus was visible
before the risible wrinkling disfigurement
etched into your emaciated skin
don’t let them call me dorian__you said__don’t let them name me after him

*

His left hand is vnder my head, and
his right hand doeth imbrace me.

Book I – The Country Parish – 1:5

Did you see the old witch Annis
With her hair still dark as ebony
With her skin still taut sienna
With her frame unstooped__unweathered  ?

Did you dare to tail her homewards
Despite the whispering neighbours’ stares
And their tales of robes of child skin
And their warnings of her luring  ?

Had you believed her home a cave
Surrounded by skulls and devilry
Surrounded by well-scraped leather
Would you have risked trailing through the

Willows strung with spinning catkins__their
Branches with her loom’s weight springing  ?

*

I am blacke, but comely, (O ye daughters of Ierusalem)
as the tents of kedar, as the curtains of Solomon.

Book I – The Country Parish – 1:3

after the alzheimer’s set in
they became convinced you were
a friend from long ago

a girl named rosemary
they’d known from school
some teenage sweetheart

whose holiday job had been
to clean the stucco surrounds
in the grand house on the park

 

yesterday they had forgotten
even her sweet savour
although there yet hanged sprigs

above the door
and the garden buzzed with spices

*

Because of the sauour of thy good ointments,
thy name is as ointment powred forth,
therefore doe the virgins loue thee.

Book I – The Country Parish – 1:1

From the darkened churchyard I heard music
Rumbling beneath the feet of a well-robed
Organist. His low, slow pedal footprints
Pulsing underground, scraping from the church.

Above those inaudible, long, caustic
Vibrations glistered new sonic tinctures:
Formants, filtered from the stratosphere, lobed
My ear and lingered, piercing pitched mulch.

Through stained glass windows I watched a couple
Clasp close in formal embrace to foxtrot
Between the Chancel steps and Nave. Deceived
By the silence after, I let your supple
Arms enfold me and waltzed to tunes fluting
In galed overtones, tile-spliced from the breeze.

*

The song of songs, which is Solomons.

Epigraphs

Magis mihi, miserule,
flere libet, puerule–
plus plorare    quam cantare
carmen tale    iubes quale,
_____amore care
___O cur iubes canere ?

*

I would rather be miserable,
I want to weep, little boy –
lament more    than sing
such song    as you bid,
____dearly beloved
__O why do you bid me sing ?

(trans. P. Dronke)

*

“for here, lost in your touch, I’ll ever dance into light.”

*