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

I — Houdini

‘I swear we padlocked
him firmly: I held
the chains as they clicked
into place: arms manacled

behind his back. There
need be no suspicion
on that score. Even
with luck, I never

thought he’d reach the shore.
He’d escaped more than once —
but always from under
water. The St Lawrence,

this time, was frozen over . . .’
He made it, of course.
Not, as the papers
put it, by power of magic

but simply through technique.
He knew so much more
than we, who need never take
that particular plunge. How

ironic to die, years
later, of a ruptured
appendix: from one blow,
for which he was not prepared.

II — Uri

The other night on tv
this chap began bending
keys and suchlike, merely
by stroking them. I tried

with a kitchen fork.
It didn’t work. So I laid
it aside. Later, when I picked
it up, it was U-shaped. No one

had been near it.
In the Middle Ages he’d
have burnt, for less.
Or in early times, led

his tribe up some mountain
of his own choosing. As it is,
and however mysterious
his act — especially given

that there is no explanation —
the outcome will be regret,
resentment even, that
his gift was not put

to better purpose. Soon
he will be forgotten.
Do such things breed in the air,
or in the mind of the beholder?

III — The Glass Slipper

Take a traditional tale
from the French. Tell
how Cinderella had those
Ugly Sisters: her days

a drudgery until
her Fairy Godmother
took her to the Ball.
Stick to the original

introducing the Prince
& instigating the search
in the right manner — only
when the time comes

for the proclamation,
make the elementary
error of misconstruing
pantoufle de vair

(in heraldry, fur)
thereby inventing
the prettiest prop
in the whole affair.

No wonder the Sisters
scoffed: what chance
of her foot fitting
a glass slipper!

IV — The Cherry Orchard

‘Everyone deep in thought.
It is very quiet.
A distant sound.
Slowly, it fades.’

A cable breaking?
A babbling heron?
‘The same thing happened
before the troubles . . .’

The moment lingers,
sadly. The characters
so intent,
they appear

lodged in crystal —
even their desires
frozen.
Till Madame

sees tears
in her daughter’s
eyes. We move on
to the intrusion

of the Passer-by.
A world is gone.
A chandelier
has been broken.