My Dream
Thomas Hardy the Poet, spoke with me last night,
Speaking of his thoughts, as I sat in bed upright,
Though twas in a dream, I never thought it strange,
That we enjoyed a moment for literary exchange.
In his broadest Dorset, which I have long known well,
He said you are a Dorset lad, as most anyone can tell.
When you were at school, a boy some sixty years ago,
It’s timely to reveal some facts you ought to know.
You have a poetic mind, that’s plain for all to see,.
But I doubt you’ll ever be, as good as Barnes or me.
On reading modern Poets, I find they often write,
In language filled with slang, to me that isn’t right.
I think that for a Dorset lad, t’would be a travesty
To be limited in this way, using their vocabulary.
Dorset words are perfect for the likes of you and me
So try to write your verse, as would Barnes and me.
However, despite encouragement I’m of the thought,
Such talents as theirs are rare, though often sought
Blessed are the Poet’s gifts that afford him due merit,
But to write in dialect? Demands the language we inherit.
So after deep thinking and much considered thought,
Think my puny efforts would likely come to naught.
To follow in their footsteps or those of other “ Greats”
Like Keats, Barnes and Browning, or the celebrated Yeats,
Would be thought impertinent. Leastwise that’s my thought.
To be the ultimate in Poetry, a is goal I’ve often sought,
But my simple talents, though some may think them good
Will never be compared, with those of Tennyson or Hood.
I could not for instance, write in the style of Francis Bacon,
Whose accomplished writing skills, should not be lightly taken.
Should I aspire to write as they, and command literary respect,
Am well aware I’ve not the skills to write, in my native dialect.
Whilst the quality of Poetry, such as early poets wrote,
Brings pleasure to our lives, as so many of us note,
To think myself their equal, is to be considered crass,
For Poetry, poorly written soon gives it a bad name ,alas!
So I’ll constrain my Poetry, to the language that I know
Though one day I might consider, composing a rondeau,
In the Dorset dialect as Barnes or Hardy might have done,
But should I think to do so? It will be written just for fun.
With many possibilities, using words of my youth,
The imagination staggers, to use dialect forsooth,
And to choose it as my style, is far beyond my skills,
So I’ll stay as I am, which will cause no grievous ills!
Rhymer. April 25th, 2016
Copyright © Denis Barter | Year Posted 2016
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