The Poetry Archive has recently been calling for submissions for what they are calling Poetry Archive Now. They are searching for poems written during 2023 as follows:
We want you to have the opportunity to join the Poetry Archive collections by recording yourself reciting or reading your poem out loud and sending it to us to care for and share worldwide. 20 poets will be chosen to join the Poetry Archive Now! WordView 2023 Collection and hundreds more will be curated, archived and shared in our YouTube collections with the millions of people who visit and love the Archive. Poetry offers a vital reflection of the age we live in. We would love you to join our collections to offer inspiration, comfort and the sheer lift-of-spirits which listening to fantastic poetry being read out loud can bring.
One of the few benefits of scrolling through social media – all too conscious of the gloom that can set in when confronted with (what appears to be) every other person/poet in the world having such marvellous successes – is that one comes across these calls for submission. Happily, the poem I videoed and sent in has become one of the ‘hundreds more’ and recently been posted on YouTube. I thought I’d share it here.
Hard to say where the juxtaposition of the last days of my mother’s life and Cleopatra’s final moments (as presented in Shakepeare’s Antony and Cleopatra) came from. But the scene is one I have often taught and found immensely moving. Charmian is one of the Egyptian queen’s handmaidens (friends more like). Cleopatra applies the asp (poisonous snake) to her breast and within a few minutes Charmian does the same:
- Charmian. O eastern star!
- Cleopatra. Peace, peace!
Dost thou not see my baby at my breast,
That sucks the nurse asleep? - Charmian. O, break! O, break!
- Cleopatra. As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle,—
O Antony!—Nay, I will take thee too.
[Applying another asp to her arm]
What should I stay—
- Charmian. In this vile world? So, fare thee well.
Now boast thee, death, in thy possession lies
A lass unparallel’d. Downy windows, close;
And golden Phoebus never be beheld
Of eyes again so royal! Your crown’s awry;
I’ll mend it, and then play.
The text of my poem appears below the video recording.
My mother’s care home room as Cleopatra’s monument
I sit behind door 16
in a room the size
of my son’s student room
though it is the old
who are sheltered here
x
and from the only chair
I watch the sun’s rays
through the only window
pierce the canopy
of the tall beech trees
x
that line the park
alongside this building
sunshine through glass
and over the sill
onto a blue plastic jug
x
its blue plastic cup
of barely touched water
a single birthday card
from her grandchildren
a Christmas cactus
x
and her bracelet watch
catches a glint
and a glint on the foil
of today’s medication
these few objects
x
are telling the time
as the sunlight rakes
beyond the trees
an Easter Island profile
gaunt and beaked
x
propped up in bed
on the plastic-wrapped
single mattress
the rucked-up sheet
of scroll and shadow
x
as the sun travels
falling into the west
I keep my vigil
with all the helpless-
ness of Charmian
x
at the cooling feet
of her Queen
the asp flung down
beneath the only chair
there has ever been
Martyn Crucefix 