Not Daffodils

The first poem I remember writing was school work at the age of ten, about King Canute. The teacher, I think, felt like the King, unable to hold back the tide. The stanzas, like waves, kept coming. Later, English was my main subject in which I got a Degree. However, I chose to teach juniors rather than English at a higher level, perhaps fearing frustration? If anyone asked me the question they asked Mr. Chipping, I would have answered as he did "Hundreds of them--and all boys." I had a memorable experience at a Summer School at Reading University when I recited two of my bereavement poems. "You won't cry, will you?" the tutor asked me beforehand. "No", I replied, "But they will", I could have added with hindsight "Every cloud can have a silver lining"--yes, a good poem. It is good to make people laugh and I do like to, but I prefer the salt in tears--"crisps and salted peanuts rather than jelly or sweet biscuits at a party". However, in "Not Daffodils", I have, as it were, held a mirror to a known poem and reflect its beauty--as in "Lea-Creaver" and "Shut Out"--or, more often, humorously to distort it.