Martin Stannard


SACRED CHORAL MUSIC


When the future arrives I will have forgotten
the past. My name, as far as I know, is Pablo, but
it's open to negotiation. Because I live in a drawer 
sometimes I lose perspective and can't be bothered 

about the world beyond furniture. If the future 
decides not to show up, what with it being fickle
and random and all, I will still be an Orlando, 
famous as a reasonably competent one-man-band.

The past is a conundrum beyond the difficulties
of algebra and signs and cosines. My name, 
according to recent surveys, is Franny O'Hardrive, 
but surveys cannot always be trusted. According to 

those who were there I was shy and apparently 
witless but how were they to know the talents 
I had tucked away in my secret compartments? 
Under the lights I could flower like a rare orchid

wooed by a serenade. But I do not care for this bunch 
of tuneless chumps, though the cellist has something
about her: I think it’s the way she is not afraid
to be who she thinks she is. My name, if what I am

writing is to be believed, is Chippy Cholmondely.
I think Chippy is a nickname because I work 
in a fish'n'chip shop, where I am in love with
Pixie, an extremely thin vision in charge of the fat. 

Verb tenses have begun to cause me sleepless nights
and afternoons. If the present continuous continues
I shall probably decide to jump ship. According to
the manifest my name is Disabled Semen O'Finn,

which I think someone put in there as a joke. I don't
approve of jokes, they are too often the last resort 
of the personality disorder. Also, the past perfect
is actually imperfect. Let's be a little bit accurate.


 
THE TIMES


All the gloomy signs were 
disappearing. This gave me
new purpose. I adopted 
novel tactics and decided 
henceforth to do my 
own laundry. Some socks 
may never be recovered.
What was it like 
to live and work in that 
state day after day? I would 
prefer not to say. Consider:
the beautiful shipwreck is 
neither simile nor metaphor. 
My life's almost over.
I'm in need of repair 
and my natural charm has 
made me a target
for other people's resentment.
I would prefer their neglect.
I've been trying to 
balance blossom and wreckage 
but I'm constantly falling 
behind with my reading 
and my talking always 
falters. Teens like me 
are too old to 
be teens like me. 
I can sometimes sound pretty 
fierce but it's a fake 
belligerence. I really should 
wean myself off stimulants 
as soon as possible 
because of what’s happening. 
And so what's happening?
Nothing I can understand.


 
THINKING BACKWARDS 


Angel dust will cling

Should you tumble into a very large tank labelled ANGEL DUST
A glorious aura 
Brilliant golden rays shoot off in every direction 
Indicating the presence of splendidness

But not everyone sees everything

§

According to Epictetus, men are tormented not by things themselves but by what they think about them

§

I’m knee-deep in my annual appraisal
Are you in real life as much as you consider yourself to be 
	in your imagination? 
Or like an early gooseberry plucked from the vine?

These days my ankles are often swollen 
And by the time I’ve cleared my sinuses
And tried to patch up the cracks in my digestive tract 
I’m barely interested in living with myself

It’s of little consequence
But I apologise for everything
It’s not that one always enjoys one’s own company
But it’s either try 
Or get dressed and join the world

§

I have always found it all bewildering

§

Everything kicked off when I invented the mind torch
If only it had existed outside my head all might have been well

The walrus timepiece was probably worth a second look
If only to remember all the opportunities that had been lost

The horse-drawn radiogram promised hours of fun for all the family
But Ma and Pa evaporated and nobody’s laughing now

The possibility pencil would have written genius in all weathers
But especially in the ice cold nights with which I'm too familiar

I wish I had never built Candy the clockwork call girl
She broke my heart, they always break your heart, those women 
	who are not really

§

’Tis best, methinks, to remain
In the cupboard under the stairs 
With a flashlight and a good book

Anything, for example, by
Mr. G. Watkins, of Leamington Spa:
Thinking Backwards is one of his best



CAKE


She asks me if I want an orange1. 
I don't want an orange. 
Why would I want an orange? 

She asks me if I want an apple2. 
I don't want an apple. 
Why would I want an apple? 

I want grapes3. 
Why doesn't she offer me grapes? 
If she offered me grapes I would seriously consider marrying her.

Instead
I drop into the bakery
And buy a cake4 I don’t really want.

§

Notes

1. Oranges symbolize the sun and fertility. On an orange tree, the flower and the fruit can appear at the same time, symbolizing both virginity and fertility. I didn’t want an orange.

2. Apples symbolize good health and future happiness. Since ancient times the apple tree has also been known as the 'Tree of Love' and is associated with the goddess Aphrodite. I didn’t want an apple.

3. Grapes symbolize abundance and fertility: I'm not sure why I wanted grapes, but I did, and wine would have been welcome too.

4. Cakes are a symbol of sweetness and love. I didn’t want either of those things, but cakes can taste good, and this one was really nice. It was very fruity. You could taste the apples and the oranges in it.




Martin Stannard lives in Nottingham, UK, and has been publishing poetry and criticism for some 40 years. He was founding editor and publisher of joe soap’s canoe (1978-93) and poetry editor of Decals of Desire (2016-17). His poetry and reviews have appeared in numerous magazines and journals, including Stride, International Times, Tears in the Fence, and The North. His most recent full-length collection is Reading Moby-Dick and Various Other Matters (Leafe Press, 2020).

Home Page: http://martinstannard.com/

 
 

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