The Uniform Factory E-Book

Louise Fazackerley

• Herausgeber: Verve Poetry Press
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Seitenzahl: 17

Beschreibung

Finally, in printed form, the poems from Louise's BBC3 commission 'Love is a Battlefield' make a wonderful pamphlet The Uniform Factory is modern war poetry marching to it's own syncopated rhythm. Anti-war. Pro-soldier. It documents and dreams the after-affects of economic conscription, war in Afghanistan and PTSD. Gallows-humour standing shoulder to shoulder with bitter anger. The collection is punctuated by landays- a Pashtun poetic form, traditionally spread woman to woman, changing, rebelling and re-mixing in the telling. Written from the perspective of the families left behind in Northern England

Leseprobe

PUBLISHED BY VERVE POETRY PRESS

https://vervepoetrypress.com

[email protected]

All rights reserved

© 2020 Louise Fazackerley

The right of Louise Fazackerley to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

No part of this work may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, recorded or mechanical, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

FIRST PUBLISHED SEP 2020

Printed and bound in the UK by Positive Print, Birmingham

ISBN: 978-1-912565-41-2

ePub ISBN: 978-1-912565-90-0

Cover Artwork Credit: Jim Winters

CONTENTS

Passing Out Parade (1998)

Another Place

factory

uniform

Landay

Street Life

Front Line

Souvenir

Daddy’s boat

Landay

Weather Report

Landay

Bolton’s Party

Landay

Remembrance Someday

Acknowledgements

for Danieland Uncle Maurice

The Uniform Factory

Passing Out Parade (1998)

If this were a wedding picture

you’d be marrying your Dad.

Centre-stage, his hair like a yard-brush,

his tash like a prison officer’s.

Chief-bridesmaid; your poor Mam,

the awkward angles of her crap blue suit.

I see you managed to get your Craig

out of The Oak, right wing

our Katie is meek, verdant and mute.

Down-stage left, Barbie-ex stands

in my place-to-be. Big-jugged and bright,

she’s on her way out, the great escape.

Your face, narrow as pointing,

peaked cap jammed on.

I can’t see your eyes. I don’t know you, yet.

Your backwards family all face forward.

Peg dolls- the lot of you.

Another Place

I pack the car for Crosby Beach,           again?

You shower, shaving sideburns, high and tight.

I shove cracked buckets, spades and blankets in.

You, wind          the bow-shaped bobbin of the kite.

Our girls run fast enough to fall just cry

or fly like swallows.  You are late to shore.

Your dumb speech, foam. We do not touch at all.

In all, we are not lovers anymore.

Another man holds your daughter’s hand,

brass faced no looking out to sea,

like sentries looking for a place to please.