Over the past three weeks, I've been posting a poem by each of the poets who'll be reading at the Rogue Strands event on 28th November (see Facebook page here like always), and this is now the final instalment. I do hope that these varied poems not only provide something of a snapshot of the U.K. scene, but also that they whet your appetite for what promises to be a terrific evening of poetry.
Neil Elder's our man today. His work is characterised by its clarity, understatement, keen observation and subtle juxtapositions that encourage his readers to reach their own conclusions, and this piece is no exception. Details are gradually layered, building up to a terrific ending that reverberates back to the beginning. That's always a sign of a top-notch poem...!
Restructuring
It
was obvious he’d gone.
Twenty
minutes later he emerged;
a
year older (and an inch shorter),
for
every minute he’d been before the boss.
Never
seen a man so reduced.
For
an hour he stood and stared at the car park.
Something
had left him;
none
of us knew what words to offer his shell.
Then
Shivali asked if he’d still sort the Lottery
and
Dave wondered if an office would be free.
The
following week
hushed
conversations stopped
whenever
he came into the tea-room.
Might
as well have rung a bell.
He
ate alone, untouchable.
Then
his desk was empty,
though
his screensaver still showed
a
picture from the Christmas do;
dressed
as an elf with Leanne on his knee,
he
always liked a laugh.
Emails
arrived with the words rationalise,
downturn
and downsize.
It
was like a damp we couldn’t stop from spreading
and
it seeped from his department into ours.
Just
now HR Jenny smiled at me;
my
appointment's Thursday, half-past three.
(First published in Acumen)
