Poems rooted in an ageing brain

For me, and others of a certain age, poems from childhood and youth are stored deep in the memory, buried like daffodil bulbs, bursting out again from time to time, sometimes word-for-word. These poems, in particular the narrative ones, must have partly formed the bedrock of my love of reading and writing historical fiction. 

In primary school, the thumping rhythm of Young Lochinvar, grabbed me, as did my mental image of the bold, romantic hero of Scott’s poem.

O young Lochinvar is come out of the west,

Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;

And save his good broadsword he weapons had none,

He rode all unarm’d and he rode all alone.

So faithful in love and so dauntless in war,

There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

 

As for a heroic villain, violent action and vivid images, Alfred Noyes’ poem The Highwayman had a powerful impact on my ten-year-old self.

 

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.

The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.

The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,

And the highwayman came riding—

Riding—riding—

The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

 

At secondary school, the literary ballads of Coleridge (How could I forget Richard Burton’s reading of The Ancient Mariner?) and Tennyson introduced elements of the supernatural and religion, to add to the themes which are the stuff of popular historical fiction: love, betrayal, revenge, crime and punishment and mystery.

 

Then, reading some compelling shorter poems in historical settings by later poets, inspired me to imagine the full stories behind these verses. For example, in Walter de la Mare’s The Listeners, what was the purpose of the traveller’s visit?

 

‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,

Knocking on the moonlit door….

 

and who are the victims and aggressors in W.H Auden’s

 

O what is that sound which so thrills the ear
Down in the valley drumming, drumming?
Only the scarlet soldiers, dear,
The soldiers coming……..

 

and what happened to traitor and victims in The Castle by Edwin Muir?

 

Poets such as these must have felt the pull of the ancient art of story telling in verse, as well as the desire to re-create historical settings. Such memorable works have stayed with me for more years than I care to mention and influence me still.

For more posts by Clare Hawkins visit her blog: https://clarehawkins.com