somnambulist monocycle

Do you think if I came back people would talk to me? There are only like a dozen or so of you who post (out of, what, over a hundred?).

And now, a poll:

[Poll #2041617]

Okay, it was stalled a little by my exam last week, but here is the final installment of Carol Anne Duffy's The Laughter of Stafford Girls' High. The beginning, if you want to refresh your memory/read the whole thing at once, is here. I'd be really interested to know what everyone thought, so if you wanted to post a comment after this it would be great to see who read it/enjoyed it/hated it/etc. Onwards!

Small hours. The moon tracked Mrs Mackay as she reached the edge
of the sleeping town, houses dwindling to fields, the road
twisting up and away into the distant hills. She caught her mind
making anagrams - grow heed, stab, rats - and forced herself
to chant aloud as she walked. Hedgerow. Bats. Star. Her head
cleared. The town was below her now, dark and hunched,
a giant husband bunched in his sleep. Mrs Mackay climbed on,
higher and higher, keeping close to the ditch, till the road snaked
in a long S then levelled out into open countryside. Shore,
love, steer, low, master, night loom, riven use, no. Horse. Vole.
Trees. Owl. Stram. Moonlight. Universe. On. Wed, loop, wand,
drib, tiles, pay thaw, god. Dew. Pool. Dawn. Bird. Stile. Pathway.
Dog. She arrived at the fringe of a village as morning broke.

Miss Batt held Miss Fife in her arms at dawn, the small room ( ... )

A short snippet, since I've already posted once today. Click here for the start of the poem.

That Monday morning Doctor Bream, at her desk,
didn't yet know that the laughter of Stafford Girls' High
would not go away. But when she stood on the stage,
garbed in her Cambridge cap and gown, and told the school
to quietly stand and contemplate a fresh and serious start
to the week, and closed her eyes - the hush like an air balloon
tethered with roped - a low and vulgar giggle yanked
at the silence. Doctor Bream kept her eyes clenched, hoping
that if she ignored it all would be well. Clumps of laughter
sprouted among the row upon row of girls. Doctor Bream,
determined and blind, started the morning's hymn. I vow
to thee my country . . . A flushed Miss Fife started to play.
All earthly things above . . . The rest of the staff joined in -

( entire and whole and perfect... )

By the way, while I'm thinking about it, how many of you are reading along with me, waiting with baited breath for each installment? I'd better not be talking to myself here...

Bought Carol Anne Duffy's Feminine Gospels for Bex yesterday. It contains a fantastic poem which a lot of you may know but which I had somehow missed called The Laughter of Stafford Girls' High. It's amazing. Seriously. You must all read it. Hence, I'm posting it up here. However, because it's rather long, and because CAD isn't really that famous, because, well, most contemporary poet's just aren't, I can't find it on the net. Therefore I have to transcribe it myself. Therefore you're getting it in parts. Fortunately, it comes in parts (seven, although this, the first, is the longest, so I may post more than one at once henceforth). Here's part one (abject apologies in advance for screaming typos):

The Laughter of Stafford Girls' High

It was a girl in the Third Form, Carolann Clare,
who, bored with the lesson, the rivers of England -
Brathay, Coquet, Crake, Dee, Don, Goyt,
Rothay, Tyne, Swale, Tees, Wear, Wharfe . . .
had passed a note, which has never been found,
to the classmate in front, Emily Jane, a girl,
who adored the teacher, Miss V. Dunn MA,
steadily squeaking her chalk on the board -
Allen, Clough, Duddon, Feugh, Greta, Hindburn,
Irwell, Kent, Leven, Lowther, Lune, Sprint . . .
but who furtively opened the folded note,
torn from the back of the King James Bible, read
what was scribbled there and laughed out loud.

( It was a miserable, lowering winter's day... )