[Charlotte Innes]

This summer, while I was in England, I finally went to Adlestrop, subject of the wonderful poem by Edward Thomas. There's no station now--just an old station bench as a memorial, with the poem inscribed on a little metal plate. Poem and Pic below!

Also check out this interesting recent article about Edward Thomas and Robert Frost that appeared in The Guardian:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011...-thomas-poetry

Adlestrop

Edward Thomas

Yes. I remember Adlestrop –
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.

The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop – only the name

And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.

And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.

http://www.ablemuse.com/erato/attachment.php?attachmentid=561&stc=1&d=1312397673[/IMG]stc=1&d=1312397673[/IMG]

[Gail White]

It takes genius to think of rhyming "mistier" with "Gloucestershire."

My other favorite train station poem is by Edward Gorey:

The tourist huddles in the station
While slowly night gives way to dawn.
He finds a certain fascination
In knowing all the trains are gone.

[Tim Murphy]

It's a great little poem, but it raises the issue of two peoples divided by a common language in its last word, which scans horribly if an American tries to pronounce it phonetically.

[Jayne Osborn]

Hi Charlotte, and a warm welcome to you!

Thank you SO much for posting that very interesting article from The Guardian; I really enjoyed it, being a big Robert Frost fan. (I like Edward Thomas too.)

I don't know if you were aware, but we've had two meetings in England in the last few weeks, in Oxford and Cambridge, of 'Spherians' from the UK, US and Australia. I was lucky enough to be at both venues. What a pity we didn't get a chance to meet when you were over here too (and quite near to where I live!).

That's a lovely pic of you at Adlestrop (Thomas' famous poem featured in my own poem that won the Literary Review 1st prize this time last year, btw.)

I look forward to seeing some of your work here in a while

[Jayne Osborn]

Hi Tim,

Are you aware that we pronounce 'Gloucestershire' like 'Gloss- ter-sher'? Does that help you to scan it more easily?

[Charlotte Innes]

Thanks to ALL these great responses. In fact, I am English by birth, originally from Derbyshire (as in DAH-bi-sher). And yes, "mistier" DOES rhyme with "Gloucestershire." I had to learn this poem when I was 13, as I recall, so it's very much in my head as a spoken poem.
Jayne, I will have to track down your poem--unless you can quickly send it to me. And yes, I JUST found out about these meetings (from seeing the lovely pictures posted). Horrible coincidence--I was in England, and I COULD have made the Oxford one. In fact, I was planning to be in Oxford on that day, believe it or not, then canceled because of visiting overload--but would have made the effort for poets! I'm so sorry I missed it. (I know Gregory and Dave well.) However, I come to England every summer, so let's make the effort to meet next year!

[Jayne Osborn]

Oh Charlotte, what a shame about the meeting in Oxford; it would have been lovely to see you there! But yes, next year...

If you put this into 'Search': Literary Review (LitRev) Comp results August - you'll find the thread with my poem in it.

(And Tim, if you're looking in, an American once asked someone the way to "Loo-ga-Ba-Roo-ga", which is actually spelt 'Loughborough' but is pronounced 'Luff-Burra' I remember wondering how 'Zzyzx' was pronounced, on my first trip to California. Strange language, English!)

[Charlotte Innes]

Jayne, found your poem! It's beautiful, both heart-wrenching and funny. I've saved it on my desktop. I had a chuckle over Luff-burra too. So yes, next year!

[Tim Murphy]

Here is Talking to Lord Newborough, one of the most distinguished sonnets in the long history of our bake-offs. Thank you for writing it, David Anthony:

I’d perch beside your gravestone years ago,
a boy who thought you old at forty-three.
I knew you loved this quiet place, like me.
We’d gaze towards Maentwrog far below,
kindred spirits, and I’d talk to you.
Sometimes I asked what it was like to die—
were you afraid? You never did reply,
and silence rested lightly on us two.

These days the past is nearer, so I came
to our remembered refuge on the hill,
expecting change yet finding little there:
my village and the Moelwyns look the same,
Saint Michael’s Church commands the valley still—
but you, old friend, are younger than you were.

[Gail White]

Seems to me that a while back we had a thread about Edward Thomas over at Musing on Mastery. To me he's the most underrated great poet of the 20th c. I know he wrote a wonderful poem about the Great War, of which I remember only the following lines (and often say them to myself while out walking):

Now on the road to France
heavy is the tread
of the living, but the dead
returning lightly dance...