Clovelly for Sale

 

 

 

 

 Come step back in time. You can purchase me,
for a while. Reflect how it must have been.
Once-upon-a-time, can be bought for just three
pounds. Amble through my obscenely keen,
open and shut, metal mouth. Help keep me in
fruitless sterility, a vacuum, timeless.
No café signs remembering Merlin,
smugglers, mermaids. The visitors, tasteless
haunts do not exist here. You gently wander
through my cobbled streets. I move you, confuse
you. Yes, yes I should exist. A small wonder
that is still in the heart of Devon. Refuse
to see me for what I am - am I real?

 

Men ferry my boats out to sea.
On the old harbour walls, fishing tackle, creel
stand idly by people who have come to see
the old traditional ways re-enacted.
You know you said I was tasteful, discreet.
The information on me is displayed
away from my heart, yet ready to greet
you as you walk though the gate - as you did
in the early morning when you had me
to yourself. You loved me then, amid
the nooks and crannies. Then you could see
that I was beautiful. Your eyes wandered
over my white-washed walls and the washing
hanging up to dry… Then they invaded
your solitude, wanting to share, spoiling
the quiet. You became jealous of your space.

 

You ask do I truly exist crowded
with my clients, laid bare, feet pace
over polished cobbles. I am investigated
in every part of me. Do I die then
to come alive as the sun goes down
and the curious customers leave? When
they are shut out am I then a real town?
Is there life after death? Is the early morning
and the evening my time, of delusory
fantasy, when I wake from my dreaming

Can I be real or am I a memory? 

 

 

Reviews

[Blackbirdsong]

These last words really are just so powerful -

"Do I die then
to come alive as the sun goes down
and the curious customers leave? When
they are shut out am I then a real town?
Is there life after death? Is the early morning
and the evening my time, of delusory
fantasy, when I wake from my dreaming?
Can I be real or am I a memory?"

We've had our share of tourist stuff here in upstate NY. People come to see the old forts with all the reenacters all over the place. They tread on things which should be sacred with their flip flop sandals and popcorn greasy hands.

This poem made me want to visit the place, which would make me a tourist. But the place itself sounds like it used to be just a wonderful little haven. I wish I could have seen it then before it became as you so lovingly and movingly describe.

Thank you for sharing this.

take care :)

[Sel Whiteley]

This is a wonderful poem. You can really feel your hurt at the commercialisation of old Kernow, and also at the stagnation of Devon's Covelly, you know I've spent the last twenty years thinking it was Kernow, I mean, duh. The town's aged beauty seems reflected in the classic style, the rhyme and lilt of the voice. You set up the scene of absolute beauty, made more haunting by the fact the town is speaking to you,

Men ferry my boats out to sea.
On the old harbour walls, fishing tackle, creel
stand idly by people who have come to see
the old traditional ways re-enacted.

Your eyes wandered
over my white-washed walls and the washing
hanging up to dry� Then they invaded
your solitude, wanting to share, spoiling
the quiet. You became jealous of your space.

Then the harsh reality of the town's prostitution, a town, losing the best part of itself because it is forced to share, to have people look right into its inner heart and workings.

You ask do I truly exist crowded
with my clients, laid bare, feet pace
over polished cobbles.

A great work!

[Tawny O'hara]

beautifully said. I wrote a story about an old mansion we refurbished. Sort of in the same vein. Here in America there are several places like that. Williamsburg, Virginia and Tombstone which is around where I live. The west isn't as over run as the east but I think tombstone is alive at night, or at least those that live there say the dead still walk there.

I love historical places and you have brought that into a reality speaking from the village's voice.

[Gandré]

I liked the philosophical character of your poem and your questions.

[Kevin Connolly]

Then you could see
that I was beautiful. Your eyes wandered
over my white-washed walls and the washing
hanging up to dry�
You ask do I truly exist crowded
with my clients, laid bare, feet pace
over polished cobbles. I am investigated
in every part of me.
Is there life after death? Is the early morning
and the evening my time, of delusory
fantasy, when I wake from my dreaming?
Can I be real or am I a memory?

I must put Clovelly on my holiday list, Vanessa. It sounds like the island in 'The Prisoner'.
But who is Number two?
Great poetry.

[Cdnsurfer]

Very nice poem. I loved the imagery and the feelings of nostalgia and timelessness, caught in the faux world created for tourists here. Then there is painted over this the troubled relationship. Contemplation of life and death, fantasy and truth. So many thoughts an emotions expressed in this piece. For an early poem I wonder just how good you are now ... I suspect you're pretty damn brilliant and skilled (I see it here and in your reviews).

Suggestions on rhymes. This line didn't work with "wandered", so I thought:

hanging up to dry� [So] they [heard]

I thought with "displayed" as the couplet, this might work a bit better:

the old traditional ways [persuade].

[Poeticpiers]

Brilliant Tourists never see he real clovelly nor an of the other tourist traps You have to live there all year round and even then its not like it used to be More than fifty years since i was there Not going back yesterday is a different country

[Yira Simone]

All I wanted to do after reading this was go to Clovelly. I loved the way you detailed the looks, the feel, even scent of this place. I loved how you said even though she is a tourist spot, she is still a HUGE part of history and that she is still the Clovelly of old, that catered to sea men, a place for mermaids, Merlin and smugglers. I love the way you spoke as if you were Clovelly herself. This was very good. Thank you for sending this my way.-Catrina