Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

The woodpecker’s sound reminds me
of an unwritten poem
with the woodpecker as narrator.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat:
but the woodpecker has no lines
on the loss of woodland
or of insect life.
A woodpecker ignores expressions
changing on a human face.

In any case, the woodpecker
on the electricity pole
goes rat-tat-tat
or silent by other than human
laws, customs, habits. Life
moves faster than unwritten poems.
There are no excuses
for not speaking the truth myself.

Already the subject of the poem
escapes me, as if it were
a subject of conversation.
What was I saying? but
what we were not saying
is the subject of the poem.

We were not saying
different things. One,
saying he was angry,
didn’t say he was afraid.
Another, saying something,
suggested something else.
Perfectly understandable,
perfectly allowable.
Others, after all,
were silent, suggesting
they didn’t care.

Not that caring is compulsory,
far from it. Other words will do,
such as lambs or beheaded,
such as a fox, or not.
Some favour badger,
some the gun; excuse me, a gun,
shooting or something.

Something is not in the least
melodramatic, it defies
dramatic expression, it’s a usable
conversational word. He said
something but I didn’t catch it.
He said something but he meant
something else. He said something
but his heart was singing
some sort of melodrama, you know,
blood and stuff, other people, guilt.

I said something, mum-mum-mumbled
something, perfectly usable
for the time being, the blood
being real and all that,
the lambs beheaded; the fox,
other people, guilt, law,
melodrama, only imagined
for the time being.
Anyway, as someone said,
it might have been a badger
The world could be different
said someone else. It wasn’t me,
I promise, you can take my word.

The woodpecker had the best lines,
mum-mumbled the poet, but
the woodpecker is silent. Life
moves faster, no excuses,
rat-tat-tat-tat-tat.