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Thisis
the
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An anthology of poems by 6P inspired by The Night Mail by WH Auden
Night Mail
This is the night mail crossing the Border,
Bringing the cheque and the postal order,
Letters for the rich, letters for the poor,
The shop at the corner, the girl next door.
Pulling up Beattock, a steady climb:
The gradient's against her, but she's on time.
Past cotton-grass and moorland boulder
Shovelling white steam over her shoulder,
Snorting noisily as she passes
Silent miles of wind-bent grasses.
Birds turn their heads as she approaches,
Stare from bushes at her blank-faced coaches.
Sheep-dogs cannot turn her course;
They slumber on with paws across.
In the farm she passes no one wakes,
But a jug in a bedroom gently shakes.
Dawn freshens, Her climb is done.
Down towards Glasgow she descends,
Towards the steam tugs yelping down a glade of cranes
Towards the fields of apparatus, the furnaces
Set on the dark plain like gigantic chessmen.
All Scotland waits for her:
In dark glens, beside pale-green lochs
Men long for news.
Letters of thanks, letters from banks,
Letters of joy from girl and boy,
Receipted bills and invitations
To inspect new stock or to visit relations,
And applications for situations,
And timid lovers' declarations,
And gossip, gossip from all the nations,
News circumstantial, news financial,
Letters with holiday snaps to enlarge in,
Letters with faces scrawled on the margin,
Letters from uncles, cousins, and aunts,
Letters to Scotland from the South of France,
Letters of condolence to Highlands and Lowlands
Written on paper of every hue,
The pink, the violet, the white and the blue,
The chatty, the catty, the boring, the adoring,
The cold and official and the heart's outpouring,
Clever, stupid, short and long,
The typed and the printed and the spelt all wrong.
Thousands are still asleep,
Dreaming of terrifying monsters
Or of friendly tea beside the band in Cranston's or Crawford's:
Asleep in working Glasgow, asleep in well-set Edinburgh,
Asleep in granite Aberdeen,
They continue their dreams,
But shall wake soon and hope for letters,
And none will hear the postman's knock
Without a quickening of the heart,
For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?
This is the night mail crossing the Border,
Bringing the cheque and the postal order,
Letters for the rich, letters for the poor,
The shop at the corner, the girl next door.
Pulling up Beattock, a steady climb:
The gradient's against her, but she's on time.
Past cotton-grass and moorland boulder
Shovelling white steam over her shoulder,
Snorting noisily as she passes
Silent miles of wind-bent grasses.
Birds turn their heads as she approaches,
Stare from bushes at her blank-faced coaches.
Sheep-dogs cannot turn her course;
They slumber on with paws across.
In the farm she passes no one wakes,
But a jug in a bedroom gently shakes.
Dawn freshens, Her climb is done.
Down towards Glasgow she descends,
Towards the steam tugs yelping down a glade of cranes
Towards the fields of apparatus, the furnaces
Set on the dark plain like gigantic chessmen.
All Scotland waits for her:
In dark glens, beside pale-green lochs
Men long for news.
Letters of thanks, letters from banks,
Letters of joy from girl and boy,
Receipted bills and invitations
To inspect new stock or to visit relations,
And applications for situations,
And timid lovers' declarations,
And gossip, gossip from all the nations,
News circumstantial, news financial,
Letters with holiday snaps to enlarge in,
Letters with faces scrawled on the margin,
Letters from uncles, cousins, and aunts,
Letters to Scotland from the South of France,
Letters of condolence to Highlands and Lowlands
Written on paper of every hue,
The pink, the violet, the white and the blue,
The chatty, the catty, the boring, the adoring,
The cold and official and the heart's outpouring,
Clever, stupid, short and long,
The typed and the printed and the spelt all wrong.
Thousands are still asleep,
Dreaming of terrifying monsters
Or of friendly tea beside the band in Cranston's or Crawford's:
Asleep in working Glasgow, asleep in well-set Edinburgh,
Asleep in granite Aberdeen,
They continue their dreams,
But shall wake soon and hope for letters,
And none will hear the postman's knock
Without a quickening of the heart,
For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?
The following poems are a collection from 6P.
We have explored the poetic features used within Auden's Nightmail such as rhythm, rhyme, assonance and simile.
Our poems look to recreate the rhythm, which is so distinctive in the original. In some cases we show how we might choose to make a conscious change in this rhythm when we explore a different emotion or idea.
We hope you enjoy our anthology.
6P
We have explored the poetic features used within Auden's Nightmail such as rhythm, rhyme, assonance and simile.
Our poems look to recreate the rhythm, which is so distinctive in the original. In some cases we show how we might choose to make a conscious change in this rhythm when we explore a different emotion or idea.
We hope you enjoy our anthology.
6P
Email by BB
This is the Email crossing the world
Bringing your messages while you’re curled
Up on your sofa or tucked up in bed
It sits in your inbox remaining unread
From friends, family, school or the boss
Hoping you’re having good times, best wishes from the most
Good luck, happy birthday, maybe even a promotion
Long lost friends, such great emotions!
Anytime, any day, any minute and any hour
Messages around the world in an instant, what power
Out and about whether you’re in or not
Emails get to you even when you’re on the trot
On your phone, tablet or laptop
You might get a message from your favourite shop
‘Please transfer money’, ‘I have millions for you’
Is it spam? Is it phishing? Is any of it true?
Constant bombardment every minute of the day
Why can’t we go back to the old fashioned way
Mail me a card, mail me a letter
Those were the days, surely post is better?
The buzzing and the pings all turned off
As the switch clicks
Birds are chirping
The trees are gently swaying
Is it better to turn it off
The sun is shining
The clouds are slowly moving
The steam is trickling
The boats are chugging along
Peace is here
Finally at last
The buzzing and the pings al turned off
It is better to turn things off
This is the Email crossing the world
Bringing your messages while you’re curled
Up on your sofa or tucked up in bed
It sits in your inbox remaining unread
From friends, family, school or the boss
Hoping you’re having good times, best wishes from the most
Good luck, happy birthday, maybe even a promotion
Long lost friends, such great emotions!
Anytime, any day, any minute and any hour
Messages around the world in an instant, what power
Out and about whether you’re in or not
Emails get to you even when you’re on the trot
On your phone, tablet or laptop
You might get a message from your favourite shop
‘Please transfer money’, ‘I have millions for you’
Is it spam? Is it phishing? Is any of it true?
Constant bombardment every minute of the day
Why can’t we go back to the old fashioned way
Mail me a card, mail me a letter
Those were the days, surely post is better?
The buzzing and the pings all turned off
As the switch clicks
Birds are chirping
The trees are gently swaying
Is it better to turn it off
The sun is shining
The clouds are slowly moving
The steam is trickling
The boats are chugging along
Peace is here
Finally at last
The buzzing and the pings al turned off
It is better to turn things off
This is the email crossing the border
Telling amazon they’ve got an order
Down the satellite line the messages zing
You’ve got a message ping ping ping
Email isn’t the only way to connect
We have facetime and snapchat and on the screen they project
When u get a email it can cause all emotion
But at least you're happy to get a email saying u got a promotion
I know it’s a good way to keep in touch
But when they don’t stop texting it just gets too much
The feelings of joy, sadness, grief and also stress
If u see something bad it could leave you in a mess
Emails from family, friends, school and work
If someone sends u something annoying u might call them a jerk
All my friends made a group chat but didn’t invite me
I start to cry but my mum calls me for my tea
My phone starts to glitch it’s on 1%
I jump for my charger lead
But it’s too late :(
But thats okay everyone needs a break
From the constant pinging that my phone makes
So take a break go outside play around
Compared to the pinging its a whole new sound
by IW
Telling amazon they’ve got an order
Down the satellite line the messages zing
You’ve got a message ping ping ping
Email isn’t the only way to connect
We have facetime and snapchat and on the screen they project
When u get a email it can cause all emotion
But at least you're happy to get a email saying u got a promotion
I know it’s a good way to keep in touch
But when they don’t stop texting it just gets too much
The feelings of joy, sadness, grief and also stress
If u see something bad it could leave you in a mess
Emails from family, friends, school and work
If someone sends u something annoying u might call them a jerk
All my friends made a group chat but didn’t invite me
I start to cry but my mum calls me for my tea
My phone starts to glitch it’s on 1%
I jump for my charger lead
But it’s too late :(
But thats okay everyone needs a break
From the constant pinging that my phone makes
So take a break go outside play around
Compared to the pinging its a whole new sound
by IW