Poem
Samantha Wynne-Rhydderch
ABANDONATA
ABANDONATA
ABANDONATA
Above the stove his longjohns hangwhere he pegged them on June 10th 1911.
A pin-up of a girl’s naked back
beside his bunk is curling up to his
spilt shelf of charts and logs, the diary’s yard
of ink. Frozen to death, outside,
the remains of a dog, chained in ice.
And here, Ponting’s darkroom, reliquary
of vials and plates splayed like cards.
On the table where Scott raised a final
birthday glass, a visitor has tried a slice
of a hundred-year-old ham. Tins
of boiled mutton, brawn, Tate & Lyle
syrup lie thick and slow as the snow’s
drift, preserving an era’s hour.
And what of the women they left behind,
pausing each night on the stairs
to wind the heart of a clock,
folding and unfolding clothes, reading
and re-reading letters, weighing
each word, like a body?
© 2008, Samantha Wynne-Rhydderch
From: Not In These Shoes
Publisher: Picador, London
From: Not In These Shoes
Publisher: Picador, London
Samantha Wynne-Rhydderch
(United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, 1966)
Samantha Wynne-Rhydderch grew up in New Quay, Ceredigion. After reading Classics at Cambridge University, she took an MA in Creative Writing at Cardiff University. She lived in Oxford, Paris and the Isles of Scilly before returning to New Quay. Her work has been shortlisted for the Michael Marks Award (2014), the Roland Mathias Prize (2013) and Wales Book of the Year (2009). Samantha has taught...
Poems
Poems of Samantha Wynne-Rhydderch
Close
ABANDONATA
Above the stove his longjohns hangwhere he pegged them on June 10th 1911.
A pin-up of a girl’s naked back
beside his bunk is curling up to his
spilt shelf of charts and logs, the diary’s yard
of ink. Frozen to death, outside,
the remains of a dog, chained in ice.
And here, Ponting’s darkroom, reliquary
of vials and plates splayed like cards.
On the table where Scott raised a final
birthday glass, a visitor has tried a slice
of a hundred-year-old ham. Tins
of boiled mutton, brawn, Tate & Lyle
syrup lie thick and slow as the snow’s
drift, preserving an era’s hour.
And what of the women they left behind,
pausing each night on the stairs
to wind the heart of a clock,
folding and unfolding clothes, reading
and re-reading letters, weighing
each word, like a body?
From: Not In These Shoes
ABANDONATA
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère