A poem from Martin Ferguson's Stone Age Howl

I'm delighted to be able to showcase today a poem from Martin Ferguson's latest pamphlet, Stone Age Howl (Dreich Press, 2024).

The poem I've chosen is titled ‘Fugitives’. It's especially interesting because of its delicate layers, starting with the title, which seems to refer to the protagonists but also hints at the passing of time itself, a theme’s that’s pivotal to the poem as a whole. A mention of grandparents nods at the passing of a generational baton, as encapsulated by the children’s use of rusted, ageing skates. And then there’s the filter of memory: this poem takes place in the past and the narrator’s perspective is of an adult who’s no longer a child. It’s an implicit invitation for us to reflect on our own lives, the specific rendered universal. I hope you enjoy it...

Fugitives

Small window in the winter
of English winters, when we knew
that conditions chance aligned,
to hold the weight of our escapes.

And we knew the place,
that the ice would not wait,
we made the trip to silvered field,
we tied them on, ready to wield

those heavy blunted clunking clogs,
would make us feel as high as sprites,
the brown old leather ankle boots,
their metal blades with flecked rust bites

had seen better snowbound seasons
on our grandparents' quick heels.
Back upon the glaze, animals transformed,
how they still could dance and reel

make our growing bones buzz and sing,
and race and speed on frozen range,
then we were their ghosts–
Souls flying free over flooded plains.

(First published in The Poetry Village 2020)