Roger McGough is one of my favourite writers and I love this poem. (am hoping that Spring stages a last minute comeback soon and defeats this rain and snow!)
The Fight of the Year – Roger Mc Gough
And there goes the bell for the third month and
Winter comes out of his corner looking groggy
Spring leads with a left to the head
followed by a sharp right to the body
Winter can’t take much more punishment and
Spring shows no signs of tiring
mad march hares
horse and hounds
Spring is merciless
Winter won’t go the whole twelve rounds
the pavement artist
in every town
a left to the chin and
7 and any
9 of lettuce
10 for dinner
Winter’s out for the count
Spring is the winner!
Every Monday we will be looking at a short extract from a text and analysing what and how the writer has written.
Feel free to add your own comments/analysis below!
This is a short quote that is (unfairly) cruel about eating in Blackpool!
“Just sniffing the air in Blackpool can harden the arteries. Every day prime ingredients arrive here and, before they can even pause to gulp the bracing air, are dumped in the deep fat fryer.”
Jay Rayner (https://www.theguardian.com/global/2010/sep/12/jay-rayner-restaurant-review-jali-blackpool)
– This sums up a traditional activity – sniffing the air at a seaside resort to smell the sea – in this case Rayner turns this positive into a negative to show how fattening the food is in Blackpool
– The use of the word “prime” suggests that these are the best ingredients, that should be tasty and healthy but are not in Blackpool
– Use of personification – ties in with the first image – “just sniffing the air” – and also creates a humourous, flippant tone
– “dumped” – word choice – shows the lack of care and ceremony taken with food in Blackpool, is in contrast to the description of the ingredients as “prime.”
Poetry often makes you look at the world in a new way or perspective and this one takes a fresh looks at the rubbish found in skips.
In The Skip
Half a dozen bricks
are clinging to their brickness
and to the idea of being
Drawers lean on drawers as if
their crazy staircase could recall
the time it was a kitchen cabinet.
A mattress, doubled-up, yearns
to yawn, stretch, turn over
and scratch itself where it’s ripped.
Dust, yes there is dust.
And sometimes I think
my history is there in the skip:
a gap that was once for sitting on;
a piece, missing its jigsaw;
a smatter of glass, convinced
it was always meant to be a window.
I peer into the rubble, to see
There is something very poignant about all these items discarded in the skip dreaming of being the thing they used to be.