New Brighton, 1978 by Clare Kirwan

 

New Brighton, 1978

So easy to find myself there –

every hill led to the edge of land.

I’d freewheel without thinking

grey brown river. It meant nothing

to me, yet I sought it out –

it’s brackish solitude and always

the wind – sometimes a howl

you understand, sometimes a sob.

All the wrong way around. I was

too young for such nostalgia

but Seasons in the Sun

stirred up my teething soul.

Those were the days

of blue anorak, battered,

big glasses, briny,

bad hair tattered flags.

The prom was then, as now,

unlovely and all at right angles –

an expanse of pavement, lampposts,

railings, concrete wall, and then

the pirate fingertips of Irish Sea

hypnotizing, enticing me

to that churning horizon.

And going home seemed further

than the journey out had been.

So easy to find myself there,

then turning, realizing the wind

had been behind and pushing.

Head down, salted, gripping handlebars,

fighting back weather and inclination,

thirteen and against everything.

        

©  Clare Kirwan

From ‘Sculpted’ anthology of North West Poets to be launched in April
Click to go to Clare's own blog 

Moses came to Merseyside by Clare Kirwan

 

Moses came to Merseyside      

Moses came to Merseyside

and waved his magic staff.

It was his trademark trick and so

it always got a laugh.

He turned up at New Brighton,

and shouted from the beach:

I’m going to make the Mersey part

-  it’s only two quid each!

And Moses spake – at quite some length

though muffled by his beard

and people shuffled, keen to start

- that’s why they’d volunteered.

And all of them let out a gasp

when Moses raised his hand -

the waves receded, rolling back

til the river bed was… land.

The habitat was suddenly

more coastal than marine

from Egremont to Pier Head

- a long walk in between

On Fort Perch Rock, a crowd of folk

had gathered to observe

the faithful few traverse the gorge

- the ones who had the nerve.

And birds of prey on roof tops

looked down with greedy eyes

as they set out from New Brighton,

without compass or supplies.

Past rusty junk and sunken hulks

they shuffled on, quite stunned

to see  the bones of murdered men

and all we’ve jettisoned.

They turned to look at Wirral now

- how very small it seemed,

how very grey and far away -

but how Liverpool gleamed!

And how the Liver Buildings loomed

on cliffs that once were docks

now high above their heads – so far

they could not see the clocks

And Moses muttered something

his voice an utter blur

- so difficult to comprehend

through so much facial hair.

Some remarked how tired he looked

- his staff now seemed to quiver

and what’s that watery trickling sound?

and: Here comes the river!

And everybody for themselves

legged it to higher ground

they clung to ropes or climbed the walls.

Only a few were drowned.

This side is ace, the rest agreed,

(except the drugs and crime)

if there was a just a way for us

to come here all the time.

And so they built a tunnel

for they knew – without a doubt –

if they did it without Moses

they could get across for nowt.

But we all know that nothing’s free

- even a giant hole.

You can cross the Mersey any time

but the tunnel takes its toll.

So Wirral folk still stranded

on the river’s other side

still talk about the time that

Moses came to Merseyside.

And we all smile wistfully

when we think about how Moses

gets almost everywhere for free

while we pay through our noses.

After the Storm 19th Jan 5 to 7pm

Clare Kirwan poem: Moses came to Merseyside

Moses came to Merseyside       

©Jo Smith

Moses came to Merseyside

and waved his magic staff.

It was his trademark trick and so

it always got a laugh.

He turned up at New Brighton,

and shouted from the beach:

I’m going to make the Mersey part

-  it’s only two quid each!

And Moses spake – at quite some length

though muffled by his beard

and people shuffled, keen to start

- that’s why they’d volunteered.

And all of them let out a gasp

when Moses raised his hand -

the waves receded, rolling back

til the river bed was… land.

The habitat was suddenly

more coastal than marine

from Egremont to Pier Head

- a long walk in between

On Fort Perch Rock, a crowd of folk

had gathered to observe

the faithful few traverse the gorge

- the ones who had the nerve.

And birds of prey on roof tops

Love New Brighton - ©Jo Smith

looked down with greedy eyes

as they set out from New Brighton,

without compass or supplies.

Past rusty junk and sunken hulks

they shuffled on, quite stunned

to see  the bones of murdered men

and all we’ve jettisoned.

They turned to look at Wirral now

- how very small it seemed,

how very grey and far away -

but how Liverpool gleamed!

And how the Liver Buildings loomed

on cliffs that once were docks

now high above their heads – so far

they could not see the clocks

And Moses muttered something

his voice an utter blur

- so difficult to comprehend

through so much facial hair.

Some remarked how tired he looked

- his staff now seemed to quiver

and what’s that watery trickling sound?

and: Here comes the river!

And everybody for themselves

legged it to higher ground

they clung to ropes or climbed the walls.

Only a few were drowned.

This side is ace, the rest agreed,

(except the drugs and crime)

if there was a just a way for us

to come here all the time.

And so they built a tunnel

for they knew – without a doubt –

if they did it without Moses

they could get across for nowt.

But we all know that nothing’s free

- even a giant hole.

You can cross the Mersey any time

but the tunnel takes its toll.

So Wirral folk still stranded

on the river’s other side

still talk about the time that

Moses came to Merseyside.

And we all smile wistfully

when we think about how Moses

gets almost everywhere for free

while we pay through our noses.

©Clare Kirwan

Artworks used to illustrate Clare's poem are from the "love new brighton" exhibition

16: Artist: Jo Smith
Title: Here’s Looking at You, Kid!
Medium: Acrylic and Sand on Canvas

17: Artist: Jo Smith
Title: Love the Light
Medium: Acrylic and Sand on Canvas

Jo Smith

Jo is a mixed media artist and is known for her local landscapes. Jo's inspiration comes from her daily dog walks on Wirral's beaches. She often incorporates sand, shells and beach combed treasures that she applies to canvases or found driftwood. She is slightly obsessed with the birds she encounters too; seagulls, skylarks and crows etc can find their way into her work. Jo feels truly blessed living on the Wirral and loves to express her attachment to it through her art.
www.josmithart.com
www.seagrassstudio.co.uk

Clare Kirwan: Poet with painting by Pauline Murphy

love new brighton - © Pauline Murphy

 

New Brighton, 1978

So easy to find myself there –

every hill led to the edge of land.

I’d freewheel without thinking

grey brown river. It meant nothing

to me, yet I sought it out –

it’s brackish solitude and always

the wind – sometimes a howl

you understand, sometimes a sob.

All the wrong way around. I was

too young for such nostalgia

but Seasons in the Sun

stirred up my teething soul.

Those were the days

of blue anorak, battered,

big glasses, briny,

bad hair tattered flags.

The prom was then, as now,

unlovely and all at right angles –

an expanse of pavement, lampposts,

railings, concrete wall, and then

the pirate fingertips of Irish Sea

hypnotizing, enticing me

to that churning horizon.

And going home seemed further

than the journey out had been.

So easy to find myself there,

then turning, realizing the wind

had been behind and pushing.

Head down, salted, gripping handlebars,

fighting back weather and inclination,

thirteen and against everything.

        

©  Clare Kirwan

From ‘Sculpted’ anthology of North West Poets to be launched in April

Community Partner update: Poet Clare Kirwan

love new brighton - © Janine Pinion

Over the water

On this side wading birds line up

evenly spaced: the usual suspects.

Over the water, new towers rise

with metal fists to summon clouds

On this side, promenade centurions

patrol their battlements of water.

Over the water your turbines spin the wind

and windows twinkle like diamonds.

On this side we wave like abandoned aunties

you will not visit, who boast of your success.

Over the water all your new splendor

is a kind of puppetry suspended by cranes.

When I’m there I look back again to this side

when I’m here I look across to you

seagulls polka dot the sky over the water

and I’m lost, like them somewhere between the two

©  Clare Kirwan

 From ‘Sculpted’ anthology of North West Poets to be launched in April

Details of painting used to illustrate Clare's poem

7: Artist: Janine Pinion
Title: Wet sands at New Brighton
Medium: Watercolour

Janine Pinion
I’ve always lived by the sea, originally in Belfast and now in New Brighton. The tides rise and fall, changes in the coastal landscape happen slowly or overnight. I like the patterns left in the sands and the way light falls on them – bits of sky reflected in rivulets. I usually work in oils but over the past couple of years I’ve been photographing and painting the Wirral coast in watercolours. It presents so many aspects, from salt marsh to industrial docklands. I like the link to Ireland too.