Midden
 

Part of our household lexicon,
like pullet, haggard, abertyre,
it snored in the middle of our farm,
comfortable in its fug.

There was no malice to it.
Once, when my father edged out on a ladder,
my sister having strayed in too far,
it gave her up quite easily.

The smell of the country, we learned to call it.
Somehow I think of liquorice,
as if I grew up in a liquorice factory,
kicking a ball among the vats.

It snored in the middle of our farm.
Little Muddy, Tiny Reekie,
our decaying omphalos,
hanging around like itself.

David, I love lines 3-5, but I’ll enjoy it all more after I’ve completed my research. My latest find is:

“Haggard n (Agriculture) (in Ireland and the Isle of Man) an enclosure beside a farmhouse in which crops are stored”

I also love “Little Muddy, Tiny Reekie”—apparently nicknames for the midden—and the omphalos, which, though I had to refresh my memory, is a word worth knowing (the pictures I found look so much like Hindu lingams!). Was your midden a mound, though? The story about your sister makes it sound more like a bed of quicksand.

I don’t get the last line.

Lots of argument in our family about when a compost heap becomes a midden. Grass, weeds and leaves obviously go in the compost heap, but what about potato peelings, rotten fruit, plate-scrapings, gone-off meat and dairy? The further down the list the more like a midden it becomes, the pongier the smell, and the happier the rats will be. I guess, this being a farm, your midden was a much more serious affair.

I really liked the last line, emphasising its undeniable, unmistakable, confident self.

I learned several new words in my successful quest to enjoy the poem, though I haven't been able to find a definition for "abertyre" in all of Googledom. Still, I enjoyed the poem and learning the new words.

Terrific, David!

Related to abertyre?

abattoir (n.)
"slaughterhouse for cows," 1820, from French abattre in its literal sense "to beat down, knock down, slaughter" (see abate) + suffix -oir, corresponding to Latin -orium, indicating "place where" (see -ory).

David, another one of your neat and charming poems. Well done. I like learning the words.

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It's an earthy nugget of a poem that I have a hunch will find its rightful place in Manx literature/culture for eons to come.

As has been said before elsewhere, you could start the poem with line 3 but then you'd lose its neat division into quatrains. Also lost would be your signature way of easing into a poem...
On the other hand, you could do away with the stanza breaks all together and make it one big pile — a midden. And center it on the page, omphalos-like.

This line: "It snored in the middle of our farm." is amazing. I wonder, though, if repeating it verbatim in S4 takes away for its appearance in S1.

Question: are middens simply a dumping place for organic refuse and for no other purpose? I'm assuming a midden is not a "compost pile" like we have in the States typically used as fertilizer for the garden.


It's a beauty in the eye of this beholder.

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Jim, I recommend this article on middens in Wikepedia.

Something about your description and the word "omphalos" makes me think of a benign, farting, Jabba The Hutt. :)

It's nice enough, David, which, I think, is the reaction I have had to the last few of your poems. You have developed a voice, a style: a kind of conversational interrogation of the small, messy accumulations of existence. But I do wonder what's the difference between having a voice and entering into a rut? CAN you write in a different style?

Hope this helps.