Benjamin Posted May 26, 2014 Share Posted May 26, 2014 Let me feel pain rather than nothing a sanguine look a weak smile Thirst for a new tune to garnish this battered guitar with fingers that belie old age A faded great-coat and blue pants with busted flies Leftover kit from when I went to 'do my bit' Swapped arms for alms and basket weaving women selling crafts at country fairs A caravan a sarabande And I am free to come and go Anonymous And not on anybody's list Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
dr_con Posted May 27, 2014 Share Posted May 27, 2014 A Tinker nostalgia perhaps? Enjoyed this, it has a sense of loss attached to a very detailed satisfaction. One (That I know of) American fantasy authors was accused of tax evasion, so he fled to England and became a busker for over 10 years, before negotiating his return. I think he probably felt this poem every day for the 10 years in exile;-) Well done! Juris Quote thegateless.org Come on over and check out my poetry substack y'all;-) Or if your bored, head to the Zazzle store: https://www.zazzle.com/store/gateless. If you buy anything I lose a bet, so consider that before you violate the digital rules. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Benjamin Posted May 27, 2014 Author Share Posted May 27, 2014 Evolved from a picture that my late paternal aunt (who taught me music as a boy) bequeathed to me in1974. An old gypsy busker. One of my friends from around that time used to take a fiendish delight when holidaying abroad among the better off; if asked about his work, he'd say he was a professional beggar just to watch their faces change. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
eclipse Posted May 28, 2014 Share Posted May 28, 2014 i do feel the pain-powerful stuff Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
tonyv Posted June 5, 2014 Share Posted June 5, 2014 The life of a carny or other nomadic type? We can look at others and romanticize their lots in life, but I think there's always a price to pay. I detect a bit of this even in this poem. Tony Quote Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
fdelano Posted June 7, 2014 Share Posted June 7, 2014 Stirs memories, likely different ones in each reader, so well-done. I watched Buskers in London (we Yanks called it the Big Smoke, since coal fires were the main source of heat at the time--1956). The performers I saw were truly talented, and I often thought of them in connection with Burlesque in the U.S. Your poem makes me wonder how many of them were WWII grunts out to earn a living and likely feeling fortunate to be there in the freedom and safety of the streets. Nostalgic and educational. Thank you. Franklin Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Benjamin Posted June 8, 2014 Author Share Posted June 8, 2014 I recall people dying in the 'smog' of London's pollution in the '50.s.and how I was fortunate to be living in a small clean country town and at a brand new open plan school with playing fields. Monochrome films enhanced the austerity of that time: "The Sidewalks of London" in particular,(a 1938 Charles Laughton/Vivien Leigh film) captured the bleak and fragile existence of street entertainers dependent on theatre queues of the better off for a living; it contrasted somewhat with the 'displaced' and the 'travellers' we saw in the provinces, who eked out a living at the markets and country fairs. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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