Day 17 — reading genes + reading droughts

April 17 is my grandmother’s birthday; she would’ve been 101 today. So I wanted to honour her again by a poem that explores my reading ancestry.

The Poetic Factoid was going to be about the correlation between reading & various genetic traits, until I came across a word in my research & I knew the poem had to be about that.

*****

the genetics of reading

looking back through time
     there’s a definite lineage
          a genetic heritage of literature

my mother’s always been deep
     into crime to which I was a late comer
          her greatest gift to me was green Anne
               the Poldarks surprised me by being 
                    much more than mere bodice 
                         ripping regency romances

— teen me returned the favour by hooking her on fabulous fantasy

mum was clearly given gifts from her mother as both
     delighted in the murders & mysteries of Dame Agatha
          Georgette Heyer & Dorothy L Sayers ; gran even
               read James Bond, Alistair McLean & similar thrillers
                    when younger before migrating to Danielle Steele &
                         almost anything Large Print by the end of her eyes

— wish I could’ve got her opinion on Julia Quinn

grandad was much more factual
     a biographical non-fiction kinda guy
          books on birds & the natural world
               histories  the English language 
                    the bulk of which I inherited 
                         including     naturally  fittingly

— his impressive leather bound editions of poetry 

          it gives me great pleasure sharing 
     these generational reading genes (even if 
my pants are a bit bigger than theirs)

******

Day 17 Factoid — to read or not

A Presbyopian Inspired Drought

the one time in my life 
i’ve read very little 
was for a year or so 
a decade ago when 
every book bored me
when i could not
sit still long enough
to complete a chapter
even a couple of pages
it was aberrant behaviour 
for a life long wyrm 

finally i realised 
the print was blurring
eight to ten inches 
from my eyes — but 
within a month
the magic of specially 
tailored super glass
scientifically ordained
specifically adapted
for my ageing eyes
brought the magic back

(Hour 11) 8.30-9.30am — #55 “Snakes alive”

Five is my lucky number, so I was very pleased when this number came out of the hat. So much so I’ve got two poems up for your delectation. I wish I had a chance to give the first one, one more verse, but oh well.

#55

1.

snakes alive
give us a bunch
it’s all the fives
some famous
some jackson

& one renault
no prizes
for picking
the odd one
out

clearly the Renault 5
French supermini
aka Super 5
aka Supercinq
aka Le Car

true to its number
they built nearly
5.5 million of em
take that Timmy
& Tito too

*****

2.

snakes alive!
the sort of
interjection
my mother
spouts at the footy
to vent her
frustration
contempt
disgust
with how
the game
is proceeding
& the players
performing

along with other
almost obsolete
idioms as:—
— alack & alas!
— boomshanka!
— ay, ay, chihuahua!

sometimes it seems
as if she wants to be a pirate
with her:— cor blimey!’s
— blooming heck!’s
— shiver me timber!ing
— gee whillikers!
— suffering suckatash!
& — gadzooks!

a vendetta
against god’s creatures:—
— loveaduck!
— leapin’ lizards!
— jiminy crickets!
— holy mackerel!
— ye gods & little fishes!

other times she berates
people not even present:—
— jumping Jehoshaphat!
— Jiminy Cricket!
— my giddy aunt!
— blimey charlie!

& then there’s the ones
that simply make no sense:—
— och aye the noo!
— pish posh migosh!
& — thunderations above!

& she wonders
why i’ve taken up
macramé

Bingo_card_-_02

#10. Another low number. Though I think I’m due a short poem soon.