Soft hair in my hand.
The capacity to understand
As you lie in the sun
After your run,
That I shall find dog hair
When you are no longer there,
For hairs to carpets stick
And tears will, one day, prick
The eyes of he
Who loves thee.
(Note: my dog, Trigger is healthy and happy. But, on picking up some of his hair from my living room carpet, I was reminded of his mortality, and indeed that of all flesh).
A’s son is preparing for his GCSE in english. Part of the exam will entail him analysing a poem he has not previously seen, on the theme of power and conflict. He will need to analyse the techniques used and make an evaluative judgement on the poem.
I am, of course delighted to help, and hope that our time together will be productive in terms of A’s son being able to develop the skills enabling him to analyse poetry. I will ask my friend’s son to say what he thinks of the poem in general terms, and then go on to ascertain his views on the techniques being utilised.
Although I write poetry, my degree is in history and politics and I hold no formal qualification in either creative writing or English Literature (other than an A-Level in the latter subject). Tomorrow will therefore be something of a learning curve for both my friend’s teenage son and myself.
(Note: I have no idea as to what poem will be set when A’s son sits his GCSE English. It could, so far as I am aware, be any poem concerning power and conflict).