[Julie Steiner]

Mark, I actually agree with Jim (and Susan, et al.). It's definitely good enough now for its intended purpose. If you want to fiddle with it more extensively later, fine. (If not, also fine.)

[Mark McDonnell]

Hi folks,

Thanks to those (both Jims, Susan, Joe, Glenn) who seem to think this is succeeding, on the whole. And thanks to those (Julie, Yves, Richard) who have given me lots of food for though about why it might not be.

I've added extra stanzas to try to address the general criticism that the shepherd and Nell's relationship barely seemed enough for him to take such drastic action. And I've made the rich man's son more villainous with Julie's suggestion of the child being conceived through a rape. I've tweaked a few other things here and there.

Susan, your suggestion of a two-beat last line intrigued me and I did like the sound of it at the end there. But I'm not sure I could sustain it. Also, looking again at Keats' poem, I see it doesn’t follow traditional ballad metre (4,3,4,3) up to the 4th line, it goes 4,4,4,2. If I tried to mimic his final dimeter I would get 4,3,4,2. I tried it with a couple of the verses and it didn't sound quite right. Glad you liked this.

Richard, your werewolf line made me smile once I got what you meant. Covered her face, yes? I can see, along with the moon image, how you got there. I've changed the line along with addressing some of your other reasonable nits. I'm not sure I understand your point about sitting in the snow. I think it's clear that when I say he waited for months at her window, I don't literally mean 24/7.

Thanks Joe and Jims M and R! I’d love to hear it sung. I hope she gets to read it,at least.

Thanks Glenn, glad you like it. In the last line, I wanted the idea that, since the dog is a ghost, it is the eternal present, so as far as he’s concerned the sheep are roaming free. But a couple of people have mentioned the ending,so I’ll have a think. Also, I think the name of the dog needs to be teased fairly early in the poem, given its significance. And I do want a milking stool in there.

Hi Julie and Yves. I’ve tried to address some of your concerns in the rewrite. Julie, even in the original I definitely didn’t mean to suggest that Nell herself is “cruel” and deserved her death. I wrote that “the view,
Though fair, would seem so cruel.” In other words, that as he looked at her, the situation seemed cruel to him, not necessarily the girl herself. As far as describing her and not him, I suppose I am adhering to tradition here that beautiful girls are described in folk ballads and the men not so much. I don’t actually name him either. I’ve given their relationship a bit more weight and hopefully humanised her, so that her relationship with the rich guy isn’t purely mercenary but a way that she might potentially escape a fairly restricted life. Also, I’ve shortened his waiting span and only said that Nell dies, to suggest the abortion idea.

Thanks all. I did find this quite easy to write, and perhaps too easy, in that I could have worked it a bit more before posting. I feel like I’m relearning again, to be honest, in the hope that better poems come along.

Though I do like it. (Still waiting to hear what my niece thinks. Bloody teenagers! )


Thanks for coming back, Julie! (I just noticed as I was typing this)

[Richard G]

Hi Mark,
improved by some of the new additions, I think. The rich man's son is definitely more villainous, but the nameless shepherd is still a rather blank slate (and there could be more dog.)
Could you not make more of the 'For long ago, and long ago ...' refrain?



Brinscall

On moonless nights, in evening chill
With no one else around,..........when frost is on the ground
If you find yourself on Winter Hill,..........from high above, on Brinsky Hill
You may hear a mournful sound.,..........there comes a mournful sound.

It drifts down from a line of trees
Stark black against the sky.,..........(if the trees are black and the night is moonless how does this 'against' work? Also, are there actually any trees on Winter Hill now?)
A lonesome howl caught on the breeze,,..........trees/breeze feels a bit predictable
Yet nothing can you spy.,..........shall you spy?

Given the title perhaps you might consider introducing the dog here and explaining that it's his call (rather than waiting for the close?)

It's Brin the sheepdog that you hear.
It's Brin's call by that tree.,..........a calling all night long
He's calling for his master dear
For the sheep are roaming free.,..........though both of them are gone.

So creep back home, but know that noise
is a ghostly sheepdog's wail.
And listen closely, girls and boys,
to a strange and woeful tale.,..........the tale may be full of woe but 'strange' it isn't.

For long ago, and long ago
And longer than I can tell,
A shepherd lad once lost his heart
To a pretty milkmaid, Nell.

Each day he'd watch her, and the view,
Though fair, would seem so cruel.
His sheepdog, Brin, would watch her too
A-milking at her stool.

She'd pale white arms and ruby lips,
Her hair was a cloud of smoke
That fell 'cross her face like the moon's eclipse.
The lad's heart nearly broke.

For once they laughed upon the cart,..........They once had laughed upon the cart (keep the opening 'For' for the refrain?)
With hay piled to the brim
And he had pledged his faithful heart
And she pledged hers to him.

But now those childhood days were done
No more that springtime revel,,..........like the revel/devil rhyme but is there something better than 'childhood days'?
She'd given her heart to a rich man's son
Who was worse than the very devil.

For he'd promised perfumes sent from France
And the finest satin dress,
In him, Nell spied her fleeting chance
At life and happiness.,..........so soon after 'pledging' her heart to another? It makes her look shallow, and does the shepherd no favours.

Then in a hayloft, wet with sweat
He showed her his true face
And before the sun began to set
He'd took her in disgrace.,..........like this, but just confused by the order of things ('wet with sweat' suggests exertion but 'took her' comes later.)

Though he'd promised perfumes sent from France
And the finest satin gown,
He left without a backward glance
On horseback from the town.,..........perhaps he could 'flee to London Town'?

For long ago, and long ago ... ?

In time a child inside her grew
And she hid herself inside.
But the shepherd lad swore he'd be true
And Nell would be his bride.

And guessing at her hidden shame,
For two months and a day
He waited by her window pane
As his dog beside him lay. ,..........I think you can cut these or at least compress things.

In time a child inside her grew
And she hid herself inside.
Until one winter's morning, clear,
Nell's mother came outside.
"An awful thing" she said with a tear
"My poor, sweet Nell has died".

and then, perhaps a verse describing the shepherds breaking heard before

And it's long ago, and long ago
And longer than I can tell,
The shepherd muttered in the snow
"I'm off to be with Nell".

And he climbed the heights of Winter Hill
And found himself a tree
And hanged himself in the bitter chill
Of pain and misery.

So now on moonless, winter nights
When no one is around,
Far from the twinkling village lights
You'll hear that mournful sound.

It's Brin the sheepdog that you hear.
It's Brin's call by that tree.
He's calling for his master dear
For the sheep are roaming free.,..........it's a weak ending, for me, as the sheep haven't played much of a role in this, and the shepherd certainly hasn't shown any concern for them.


RG

[Matt Q]

Hi Mark,

On moonless nights, in evening chill

I wondering if it's night or if it's evening. I guess it could be the evening before a moonless night. Still, you might lose "evening" and find something that adds some image. "In the misty chill" maybe, maybe for the alliteration? Or "bitter chill" as you have later?

I'm also thinking the lack of article is maybe a little off. "On moonless nights, in the evening chill" works better for me.

It DRIFTS DOWN from a LINE of TREES

I'm not enjoying the trochee substitution. I'm thinking this should bounce. When I read it I want to insert and "on" from after "drifts", though sensewise that might be questionable. Anyway, I reckon there'd be ways to avoid the trochee.

That fell 'cross her face like the moon's eclipse.

"fell 'cross her face" seems a little awkward. How about "that veiled her face like the moon's eclipse"? Or "hid"? I also wondered it makes more sense as, "like the moon eclipsed".

For once they laughed upon the cart
...
And she pledged hers to him.

Tensewise, should that be "they'd" and "she'd"? I also don't think "For" is necessary. It's implied. Maybe just "once they had laughed ..."

He'd took her in disgrace.

I guess this might work in the local dialect, but even as "he'd taken her in disgrace" it doesn't seem right. The disgrace is hers, presumably, not his.

One possibility, playing off "set":

And before the sun began to set
She'd risen in disgrace

In time a child inside her grew
And she hid herself inside.

I'm guessing she hid herself indoors? Or did she hide insider herself (withdrew pyschologically)? But either way I think the using "inside" a second time is awkward, making it sound like she hid inside her own body in the same way that the child is inside it, or that she hid herself inside the child.

"And she hid away and cried" might be an option.

And guessing at her hidden shame,
For two months and a day
He waited by her window pane
As his dog beside him lay.

Just thinking timescales. She dies in childbirth. So, he guesses her shame 6 or 7 months later? Then waits by her window? I'd imagine the pregnancy would be pretty obvious by this point, and likely word would already have spread.

A lot of responsibility, writing something for someone else to read! Good luck to both of you, and do let us know if it happens.

best,

Matt

[Michael Cantor]

I have mixed reactions. As a poem to be presented (presented, not read) at a folk festival it's got to be a winner - I'll give you first place right now, if places were awarded.

I think it could be even stronger if the shepherd boy had some depth and a reason for being ignored - he's crippled, or stone cold ugly - but that's minor.

My main concern - based on knowing nothing at all about Lancashire (that's in England - right?) or folk festivals - is that it's too bloody long to be read aloud to an (I assume) semi-drunk audience with (I assume) a bunch of other poets crowding the stage and awaiting their turn. It demands time and pauses, and I estimate your final version would run about five minutes - you can read faster, of course, but then you kill the poem. Maybe Lancashireans are more forgiving, but in the States it you run past three minutes at an "open" they start stamping their feet and throwing beer cans. In effect, it's a charming and wonderful poem, but I wonder if it's too long for the occasion. You might work up a shorter alternate for the reading, and your niece can nail the longer version to a nearby oak tree.

[Yves S L]

Hello Mark,

Relative to the context of the commission, the revision is working for me. There is just enough logical connection between the events of the story that the setting and speaker can take it all the way home. One can quibble about the details of the drama and characterisation relative to ballad convention (which I confess to not being very familiar with), but it works if one squints one's mental eyes, and I assume the crowd will be in a generous mood. Yeah!

[Roger Slater]

I think this is excellent. I'm impressed.

[Jan Iwaszkiewicz]

As with all ballads Mark it will change in time I hope they have a folk tradition there it would be nice if this gained longevity

Nice one,

Jan

[David Callin]

Nicely done, Mark. And two sets of rhyming lines in each verse. That's impressive - and, to be honest, unnecessary, if you want to give yourself more leeway. I think you should. (If it's good enough for Sir Patrick Spens ...)

I would definitely do that. It would make it more authentic, I think. And think what you could do with that extra degree of licence.

If you want a good example of the ballad form in a popular mode, you could do worse than look at "Ernie", by Mr. Benny Hill. It's essentially the same story as yours ...

Now Ernie had a rival,
an evil-looking man
Called Two-Ton Ted from Teddington
and he drove the baker's van

He tempted her with his treacle tarts
and his tasty wholemeal bread
And when she seen the size of his hot meat pies
it very near turned her head

She nearly swooned at his macaroon
and he said, "If you treat me right
You'll have hot rolls every morning
and crumpets every night."

He knew once she sampled his layer cake
he'd have his wicked way
And all Ernie had to offer
was a pint of milk a day

Admittedly he uses a refrain too ...

Poor Ernie, (Ernie),
and he drove the fastest milk cart in the west

On an altogether different note, is this the Winter Hill of the air disaster?

Cheers, forsooth

David

[Alex Pepple]

Hello, Mark,

This is quite enjoyable, and the ballad form serves it well. The storytelling is engaging, and the folk-tale atmosphere is immersive.

That said, I wonder if some tightening could help with pacing and impact. For instance, streamlining stanzas one and three might allow stanza two to be removed entirely without losing any necessary context.

A couple of smaller observations:

• "She’d pale white arms and ruby lips"—I’m not sure "she’d" feels fluid enough here. Perhaps something like:
  "With pale white arms and ruby lips, / Her hair was a cloud of smoke."
  This keeps the meaning but smooths the flow.
• The repetition of "promised perfumes sent from France…" a couple of stanzas down makes it stand out in a way that might not be intended. Instead of repeating, perhaps find new material that advances the story rather than echoing what’s already established.

This is looking really good, Mark. I hope something here is useful to you. Best of luck with the festival!

Cheers,
...Alex