It's a neurotic little poem for a 17 or 18 year old and it wasn't until a couple of years later, in the poem now called Ferdinand in Glib Remarks, that I think we can say I moved out of the 'juvenilia' stage, if at all. It's a bit portentous but I hope it's not the worst poem a sixth form boy ever wrote.
Clear Sky in Anguish
Tonight, everyone's sleeping
Under a clear sky and our
Anguish will ebb away, out
Towards the cold stars creeping
Home. But we sleep where we are,
Following a random route.
Tonight, minds embracing where
They meet in mid air diffused
Now dance the slow movement set
Against the oncoming cares
And the clouds emerging loose
From the horizon and yet
What doubts now linger in those
Sleeping minds, knowing the clear
Sky cannot last with the wish
Tomorrow was not so close,
And we know everyone here
sees the clear sky in anguish.
The previous year I had still been in my avant-garde, experimentalist mode, expressing a cry of repressed teenage individuality thus,
CLASSIFICATION
wehaveto
conformto
thenormbe
ordinaryb
ethesamed
onotmoveb
EBIGIFYOU
arebigbut
otherwise
dontbebig
followthe
paththati
sinfronto
fyouandke
epgoingun
tilyouare
stoppedso
metimesif
eellikeat
routinasa
rdinetina
ndiwantto break out and be me.(on an old typewriter these lines made a straight line down the right hand side but on a computer they don't)
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