Sunday, April 26, 2015

The Saturday poem: In the Vicinity of the Crank-House by Anthony Thwaite


An elderly man holding a walking stick
'There are worse ways of being a connoisseur than comparing walking sticks' … from In the Vicinity of the Crank-House by Anthony Thwaite. Photograph: Alamy

I am becoming a connoisseur of walking sticks
Comparing my own stout stump with the slender ferrule,
The harsh metal wand, or the pair of hospital crutches.


Not lameness or amputation, thank God, simply old age
And a condition known as “degenerative spine” –
Something between a moral menace and a washed-out weakling.


In the vicinity of the crank-house the maimed swing by
As I make my own slow way between sets of traffic lights,
Grinning a greeting grimly in complicitous courtesy.


My first was something much lighter, with a silver band,
But I had to leave that behind as my back shrank.
Sometimes I journey uphill muttering to myself


That bit of Christina Rossetti in a stertorous way.
There are worse ways of being a connoisseur
Than quoting Christina Rossetti, and comparing walking sticks.


From Going Out by Anthony Thwaite (Enitharmon £9.99)

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