A dozen years ago I visited Edinburgh and there became acquainted with the poetry of Scottish writer Muriel Spark (1918-2006) -- prior to that visit I had known Spark only as a novelist. Today -- prompted by Thanksgiving celebration with grandchildren -- I have remembered an English rhyme that my own grandmother teased me with in childhood, "Going to St Ives" and, from there, I've recalled a pair of Spark's rhymes that follow a similar pattern. I offer them below; despite strong rhyme, these are not entirely light fare--instead, they make us aware of the sad multiplication of bonds and wounds . . .
Conundrum by Muriel Spark
As I was going to Handover Fists
I met a man with seven wrists.
The seven wrists had seven hands;
Showing posts with label Muriel Spark. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Muriel Spark. Show all posts
Friday, November 25, 2016
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