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'Brisbane Road' by Rick Gammon is Write Out Loud Poem of the Week

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‘Brisbane Road’ by Rick Gammon is the new Write Out Loud Poem of the Week. A poem about youth and age, it celebrates a goalscoring hero of yesteryear, Tommy Johnston, and imagines a meeting on the terraces between a young football fan and his older self, 40 years on. On his profile page Rick Gammon says he used to write novels but finds poetry “more meaty”. In his answers to Write Out Loud’s questions, he reveals the unusual circumstances that led him to start writing poetry two years ago.

 

What got you into writing poetry?

This might seem unlikely but a couple of years ago I was stuck at home whiling away my life doing nostalgic jigsaw puzzles. A very good friend had died and one night I got the “sense” that she wanted me to write something about our friendship - so I composed a tanka, my first serious poem, and it turned out better than I expected.  I googled “poetry performances in Hull area” and found a local pub and it grew from there.

 

How long have you been writing?

 Off and on for over 30 years - used to run a creative writing group in a local pub - it was virtually Dublin in the 50s revisited and we got banned for over-boisterous bantering.  Since then I have written a couple of novels but find I prefer poetry nowadays.

 

Do you go to many open mic nights?

I go to three or four a week in the Hull area - there is quite a poetic tradition here and there are numerous really good poets around. For me, I think poetry ought to be taken into places where it is usually unheard - and many people have told me they have been inspired to write after hearing live poetry performed.

 

What’s your favourite poem/poet?

I tend to say my favourite poem is ‘Prufrock’ and I love Eliot - and am finding  The Four Quartets growing on me. I'm recently re-discovering Imagism so that is becoming an influence - but I also like the Irish poets, Paul Durcan et al.

 

You’re cast away on a desert island. What’s your luxury?

It would have to be a word processer  - something on which to store images and words.

 

 
 
BRISBANE ROAD
by Rick Gammon
 
 
A raw late nineteen sixty
Saturday at Brisbane Road
You, a terrace regular
Standing behind the goal
Through midwinter chilled
Second Division days of little optimism
 
Blowing into your hands for warmth
And wishing thermal socks worked
Like the advert guaranteed.
 
I watched you
Not the match
 
A drab draw
No score
Until
With four minutes left
Or maybe five
A blatant dive
That the ref and linesman
Failed to spot
And the penalty put Orient behind.
 
You shouted an obscenity
At the referee
 
You wore the Orient bobble hat
And that
Twenty-foot blue white scarf Nana knitted
With her knotted arthritic fingers
And your mates would take the piss
And call it shite
But you wore with pride
In memory of the dear old bird
Who cast it off
Then promptly died.
 
You lit
A cigarette
And keen on a cheeky drop
Swigged Jack Daniel's from a flask,
 
Then checked your watch
Just a minute left
Time to dash
To beat the exit rush
 
You half skipped
Half fell
Down the weed cracked
Piss wet concrete steps
 
Then Tommy Johnston
Latched onto a hoof from Sid Bishop,
Telegraphed withered arm right
Shuffled and shot left,
Their keeper bought the dummy
The ball was netted
The match was saved.
 
I caught the bobble hat you threw
Returned it to you
“Cheers, Squire” you said
As celebrating the lucky shot
We hugged and sang,
“There's only one Tommy Johnston,”
As one, giving it all we'd got
 
You were slim
Your hair was long and black
You could not guess
The identity
Of the bald fat ugly guy
Dancing with you delightedly
The stranger
You were to become
 
I wanted to warn,
“Don't make the mistakes I did.”
But you were bound to anyway.
 
As I weaved my way
Through the crowd
I turned,
 
“By the way,
Orient will go up.
Next year
The Arsenal will be down here
You will outplay the Hammers,
Don't forget.
Bet your pay on two-nil.”
 
And you smiled thinking,
‘Pigs will fly'
 
You replied, “Cheers, Mate,
I'll never live to see the day
If you're right
The beer's on me."
 
I wiped my eyes of tears
At the heartaches and years
Of hardship ahead
For this, the younger me
 
And heard
Your mates bantering,
Jeering,
 
“That fat bastard looks the image of you in forty years.”
 
And you laughing,
“No fear. I'll top meself first.”

◄ Wanted: a short poem about love for £200 poetry book fair competition

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Comments

Mat Woolfenden

Fri 29th Jul 2016 20:50

I liked the poem,

and have lived among fellas and their teams - in the workplace: terrace lore is rubbish or you love it, the readers' choice.

I imagine the poet in Hull, narrating at one of his poetry nights, reckon it would go down very well. Not so keen on the two word verses, [he] might double up, win a competition :)

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Laura Taylor

Thu 28th Jul 2016 11:06

Yep, a great idea as well, the older you watching the younger. I love the details too about the scarf, the steps, the thermal socks.

Congrats Rick - and I love the tale of how you started writing :) I also once wrote a poem about a friend, that I felt urged on somehow to write.

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Greg Freeman

Sun 24th Jul 2016 22:28

There's so much to enjoy in this bitter-sweet poem. The football scarf knitted by gran; that moment of surprise and joy when you've given up hope, the kind of moment that stays with you, even in the bad times. Every club has its Tommy Johnston; at Orient they renamed a stand after him when he died. And yet another POTW winner from the Hull area! Well done, Rick.

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