[Richard G]

.
Matti Ka Attar


It happened on the Old Gwent Road
the year that some of you were born.
A day as June as any other
in that month. A Wednesday morn

-ing, almost lunch-time, quarter to,
and turning right off Samwell Street
is Mrs. Macklin in her coat
(the one as loud as parakeets.)

Now, she is just a passer-by
and passing by is what she will.
You see, already, she has gone.
Her tale it is not mine to tell.

But listen. Listen, for the tick
of ferrule on the pavement stones.
To the strict accompaniment
of his umbrella Mr. Jones

is crossing by The Mangled Cat.
The traffic stops to let him pass
then Gruff Patel resumes his pedalling,

somewhere else to be, he has.
Past the new replacement bus stop,
past the boutique World of Len,
Mr. Jones is ticking, townbent,
unaware. It's almost ten

to twelve. The lesson not yet over;
from a classroom window eyes
are staring out in hope of rescue.
They're about to be surprised.

Out of the blue. For blue the sky was
on that day not long ago
a cloud was seen to summit Up Hill
heading townwards with its shadow.

Grey, the cloud. It greyly lumbered
elephantine, herd of one
lumping, rainful, down the road
till over Mr. Jones it hung.

And for a moment nothing happened;
nothing that would mystify.
Then, with neither peep nor warning,
down the cloud fell from the sky.

Down it fell, all meteoric.
And with a damply thunderous crash
it landed square on Mr. Jones

and his umbrella. Both were squashed
as flat as omelettes. Flat as felt.
As flat as foxgloves when they're pressed.
It shattered paving stones and windows.
All in all it made a mess.

It made the national news as well,
and there was an investigation.
The country's finest minds were charged:
"Explain this strange precipitation."

But they could not. And they have not
unravelled reason from that skein:
Was the nimbus suicidal?
Is the climate change to blame?

A month it took to shift the cloud,
the army cordoned off the road
and after three exhaustive tests
they filled a hundred lorry loads

with cloudstuff which they took away.
A reservoir's what it became:
the Silver Lining Water. It is
famous for its scent of rain.

And Mr. Jones they folded neatly
in a special envelope:
posted to the local crem
he vanished in a puff of smoke.

The paving stones they still need fixing.
"Soon. Soon." The council say.
At least the school's repaired the window
I look out of every day.

Less in hope than expectation
I keep a careful weather eye
and never carry an umbrella
just in case: that was why.



.

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, Richard—

This is lots of fun! The ballad-like tetrameter quatrains are bouncy, and the syntax and rhymes are quirky enough to complement the humorously supernatural subject matter.

Not being conversant in Hindi, I had recourse to Google to decipher your title. I wondered if it was perhaps meant to throw suspicion on Gruff Patel, the only other element in the poem with a possible Indian connection. Would the more familiar but still fairly recondite synonym “Petrichor” serve as an alternative to your title?

I enjoyed it!

Glenn

[Alex Pepple]

Hello, Richard,

On a quick first read, I agree with Glenn—this is great fun! The voice, the rhythm, and the pacing work really well to carry the whimsical oddity of the premise. I also like how the narrator slips into the action as a student witness—we get a sense of setting, event, and lingering consequence all rolled into one, with a slightly Roald Dahl-esque flavor.

For something I found jarring, I'm not a fan of line/stanza break hyphenation of "morn-//ing." Generally, I like it when such breaks occur at word boundaries (e.g., "sun-/light," etc.). In your case, I'd say, just end at "morn, // almost ..." -- since "morn" is a valid word, albeit, a bit archaic.:

“...A Wednesday morn, // almost lunch-time...”
and preserve the flow.

I hope there's something helpful here!

Cheers,
...Alex

[Joe Crocker]

This was hugely enjoyable. Light verse, that was playful, ingenious, original and told a strange involving tale. Half-way through I found some of the sentence constructions persuading me to adopt a welsh accent. Echoes of Dylan Thomas and Under Milk Wood.

I was slightly worried that the elephantine cloud would turn out be the Aberfan disaster, but thankfully not.

I do hope there is a pub called The Mangled Cat.

[Richard G]

Hi Glenn.

This is lots of fun!
Thank you (that was the intention.)

I had recourse to Google to decipher your title.
Not too onerous a task, I trust.
I wondered if it was perhaps meant to throw suspicion on Gruff Patel,
Not in the slightest ...
the only other element in the poem with a possible Indian connection.
... it never occurred to me (which is somewhat embarrassing.)
Patel is there for a number of reasons, the most obscure of which is that when Brits (and by this I mean the English) attempt a Welsh accent there is a terrible inevitability that it will end up sounding like an Indian one. A very bad Indian one.
Would the more familiar but still fairly recondite synonym “Petrichor” serve as an alternative to your title?
Did you know that 'Petrichor' is a relatively recent coinage? Australia, 1964. As far as I can tell Matti ka Attar (or Mitti attar) predates it so credit where credit is due. (And, of course, there's that Welsh/Indian accent thing again.)


Hi Alex.

I also like how the narrator slips into the action as a student witness—
Student you say? Is that the only possibility?

For something I found jarring, I'm not a fan of line/stanza break hyphenation of "morn-//ing."
Nor am I, usually, but this one appealed for its power to irritate (and, besides, someone is bound to object to 'morn' as being too archaic so ... ) Anyway, it disappears when read (aloud) so I'm not too concerned.

I hope there's something helpful here!
I will keep thinking about that hyphenation.



Hi Joe

involving tale.
I'll take that.
Half-way through I found some of the sentence constructions persuading me to adopt a welsh accent.
Tidy. And very pleasing.
Echoes of Dylan Thomas and Under Milk Wood.
Faint, but one can hope.
I was slightly worried that the elephantine cloud would turn out be the Aberfan disaster, but thankfully not.
No, and thanks for saying so. That did worry (what with N being in a school.)
I do hope there is a pub called The Mangled Cat.
Be a shame if there wasn't (though hopefully not on an accident black-spot like this one.)


Thanks all.

RG.

[Mark McDonnell]

Hi Richard

I thoroughly enjoyed this eccentric, comic tale.

I also initially thought the "eyes" in S7 belonged to a student but by the end had decided on an adult staff member, most likely a teacher. I wonder if you could make that clearer in S7. It might make "in hope of rescue" slightly funnier.

Other than that, my only nit is wanting a stronger rhyme for "crash" than "squashed". As it is the end of that stanza falls slightly flat for me. (Unless you're planning to pronounce "squashed" as rhyming with "flashed", for comic purposes?)

Cheers!

Mark

[Richard G]

Hi Mark,

I thoroughly enjoyed this eccentric, comic tale.
Glad to hear it.

my only nit is wanting a stronger rhyme for "crash" than "squashed".
No luck with this so far. Switching to mashed/smashed unravels the next verse and splat sounds too cartoonish (and not really loud enough.) Any ideas?

Thanks,

RG.

[David Callin]

"Longish" undersells it, Rich. It's too long, I would say, but lots of fun. I do think it would stand a fair bit of pruning. That would give it more impact - I would say - as you seem to be spinning your wheels in places, but that doesn't seem to have bothered anyone else, so (probably) don't mind me.

Cheers

David

[Mark McDonnell]

To echo David, I did wonder if S2 and 3 about Mrs Macklin were worth the joke that the poem isn't going to be about her.

About the rhyme: splosh/squashed? I know a splosh isn't particularly loud either but it could be a "giant splosh" or some such.

[Richard G]

Apologies for the delay (and the unavoidable bump.)

Hi David,
any suggestions as to where to wield the shears?

Hi Mark,
S2/3 - I needed to set up 'Listen' (and to give a sense of a wider community.)

I know a splosh isn't particularly loud either but it could be a "giant splosh" or some such.
You might be reaching, but I'll ponder, thanks.

RG.