| Dancing Dust |
|
| Poems by Mollie Caird (1922-2000) |
|
| Avant-garde
retreat |
|
| Home Alphabetic index of poems Thematic index of poems Biography Gallery Contact and links |
Down in our old-world hamlet There's thatch upon the roof, There's moss between the cobbles, But the locks are burglar-proof. Within the double glazing Geraniums stand in rows, And by the fibre-glass chaise-longue The wild thyme blows. Deep, deep, deep is the well,
And so is the sunken bath; Beat, beat, beat a retreat Up the avant-garden path. The master-bed is circular, There's hessian on the wall, The plastic chairs and sofas Are blown up like a ball. Among the objets trouvés Scarce one is what it seems — Psychedelic shapes beneath The old oak beams. Deep, deep, deep is the well,
And so is the sunken bath; Beat, beat, beat a retreat Up the avant-garden path. Our automatic washer Is washing every dish, The ancient kitchen copper Is full of tropic fish. Come, peer into the diamond panes And see what we're about; Retreat, the agent said — perhaps He meant a rout. Deep, deep, deep is the well,
And so is the sunken bath; Beat, beat, beat a retreat Up the avant-garden path. Our garden's gay with gillyflowers, Stocks, mignonette and flags, But we've bought our paper poppy kit From the glossy Sunday mags. Our colour-telly shows us Where we're going, who we are — But we're torn between the village inn And our built-in bar. Deep, deep, deep is the well,
And so is the sunken bath; Beat, beat, beat a retreat Up the avant-garden path. Heat from the chimney-corner Goes underneath the floors, And Aubrey Beardsley posters Adorn our old barn doors. Like the Duke of Plaza-Toro Rear-leading the attack, Or like a railway train, our van Is at the back Deep, deep, deep is the well,
And so is the sunken bath; Beat, beat, beat a retreat Up the avant-garden path. An estate agent's advertisement described a house as an "avant-garde retreat". Oxford Times, 10 October 1969 (minus verse 4) |