Penelope wrote: S&G and 'The Boxer' - written on Runcorn Station platform, allegedly....(It is about five miles from here).

Thanks for that bit of history, Penny. I think a train station is a great place to write a poem or song, especially a song like this ... I can imagine Paul Simon sitting on the platform with his backpack leaning up against a post and writing this song, people and trains hurrying by, all strangers ... it's a good example of the 'human condition' songs that he writes so well. It was on the Bridge Over Troubled Water album, one of the first albums I ever bought, first song on the second side, and I liked it from the get go.

I have that S&G album on vinyl and as a CD. It is one of my top favourites, and I love 'Feelin' Groovy'. In fact I have many of Paul Simon's albums. As a singer/songwriter I think he is really special.

One of the first albums I ever bought was Paul McCartney and Wings - Band on the Run.......before that I only bought 45rpm vinyl records or Elvis on Bakelite 78rpms. Gosh.....I'm old!!!

Anyway, tomorrow night we're off to the Lowry Theatre in Manchester to see Tommy Steele in the musical, Scrooge. Now Tommy Steele was my very first heart throb. He is one of the original rock 'n rollers.....I was twelve when I had this tee-shirt with his facsimile signature across the bosom - before I even had a bosom...LOL. Tommy Steele is 75 years old now, but still rocks.

Penelope, Enjoy your musical. I am not sure who Tommy Steele is. I'll have to look him up.

Here is another, quite different, Christmas poem.


Brief reflection on killing the Christmas carp

By Miroslav Holub 1923–1998 Miroslav Holub

You take a kitchen-mallet
and a knife
and hit
the right spot, so it doesn’t jerk, for
jerking means only complications and reduces profit.


And the watchers already narrow their eyes, already admire the
dexterity,
already reach for their purses. And paper is ready
for wrapping it up. And smoke rises from chimneys.
And Christmas peers from windows, creeps along the ground
and splashes in barrels.


Such is the law of happiness.


I am just wondering if the carp is the right creature.


A far better creature surely would be one
which—stretched out—held flat—pinned down—
would turn its blue eye
on the mallet, the knife, the purse, the paper,
the watchers and the chimneys
and Christmas,


And quickly


say something. For instance


These are my happiest days; these are my golden days.
Or
The starry sky above me and the moral law within me,
Or
And yet it moves.


Or at least
Hallelujah!

Killing fish is a tricky business, even without them saying anything.

Miroslav Holub's poem give us some insight to Czech life:

"The Christmas Carp's journey to the Christmas table"

In the middle of October, the fishermen begin to fish out the ponds, which lasts until the end of November. Southern Bohemia is famous for its fishponds, with more than 7,600 of them, covering a surface area of 27 thousand hectares.

Raising carp has a long history in the Czech lands. The first written accounts of fishpond construction date back to the 11th century, when monasteries maintained the fishponds for raising carp, which was an important food for Lent. But the greatest upsurge of fishpond cultivation came in the 15th and 16th centuries, when most of the ponds in Southern Bohemia came into existence. The biggest fishpond in South Bohemia, and thus in all the Czech lands, is Rozmberk (489 hectares)."

I guess the Czech carp pond is the larger scale "goldfish pond".

My son and his partner have a Czech friend and they have even been to her home in Czech Republic and met her parents. - Eastern European people have Carp for christmas dinner, like we have turkey.

I loved the poems - realiz. I love to go spinning for Mackerel on the sea, when we're on holiday, and the Mackerel are so rainbow-beautiful when they come out of the water - than it makes me cry. You have to hit them on the head with a heavy metal tool (called the priest) so that they die quickly and don't leap about gasping for breath.....it's kinder.....but it is still a shame. Since I can't be a vegetarian I would rather be a realist and know what it costs in terms of suffering for me to be a carnivore.

This poetry deals with this conflict beautifully, I think. Thank you.

Thanks to both of you for the interesting information. I think fish is delicious, but somehow it does not seem much like Christmas to me.

'I am just wondering if the carp is the right creature.'

I guess the turkey doesn't seem much better waiting on the chopping block to lose its head.

We do some fishing here as well, Penelope, and we have a wooden tool for hitting the fish on the head which we call the fish bonker.

That was a very strange ending to me, the poet picturing an animal having an ecstatic reaction to being sacrificed. That's not the way I see any animal going out of this world...but I suppose it could make us feel better to think so.

Is it really called a fish bonker? It's a good name for such an object. I gave up fishing because I came to feel bad about having to kill the fish I caught. It didn't seem right just to let them suffocate slowly, so, yes, some kind of bonker had to be used to dispatch them more quickly. Fish are such beautiful creatures. I still don't mind at all eating them, I just want someone else to be the executioner.

Brief reflection on killing the Christmas carp

By Miroslav Holub 1923–1998 Miroslav Holub

...
I am just wondering if the carp is the right creature.


A far better creature surely would be one
which—stretched out—held flat—pinned down—
would turn its blue eye
on the mallet, the knife, the purse, the paper,
the watchers and the chimneys
and Christmas,


And quickly


say something. For instance


These are my happiest days; these are my golden days.
Or
The starry sky above me and the moral law within me,
Or
And yet it moves.


Or at least
Hallelujah!

I doubt a turkey would do. He's looking for a creature that would bring some dignity to the moment just before it dies and somehow a turkey doesn't cut it any more than a carp. I can't imagine having carp for Christmas dinner, its a lowly bottom feeder in my books. Now maybe some nice salmon?

It must be unbelievably tricky to hold a flipping about fish, and a knife and a mallet and then whack the knife and kill the fish without losing a finger in the process. I'm sure that people watching admire the 'dexterity' as he says.

DWill: yes I agree bonking them is far better than letting them suffocate slowly but it is a grim task, particularly because you have to hold the fish down with one hand while bonking with the other and this direct contact and violent force makes one feel very much 'the executioner' ... it is definitely something you want to do right the first time so you don't have to re-bonk ...

Dawn Walkers

Anxious eyes loom down the damp-black streets
Pale staring girls who are walking away hard
From beds where love went wrong or died or turned away,
Treading their misery beneath another day
Stamping to work into another morning.

In all our youths there must have been some time
When the cold dark has stiffened up the wind
But suddenly, like a sail stiffening with wind,
Carried the vessel on, stretching the ropes, glad of it.

But listen to this now: this I saw one morning.
I saw a young man running, for a bus I thought,
Needing to catch it this murky morning
Dodging the people crowding to work or shopping early.
And all the heads stopped and turned to see how he ran
To see would he make it, the beautiful strong young man.
Then I noticed a girl running after, calling out 'John'.
He must have left his sandwiches I thought.
But she screamed 'John wait'. He heard her and ran faster,
Using his muscled legs and studded boots.
We knew she'd never reach him. 'Listen to me, John.
Only once more' she cried. 'For the last time, John, please wait,
please listen'.
He gained the corner in a spurt and she
sobbing and hopping with red hair loose
(Made way for by the respectful audience)
Followed on after, but not to catch him now.
Only that there was nothing left to do.

The street closed in and went on with its day.
A worn old man standing in the heat from the baker's
Said 'Surely to God the bastard could have waited.'

Jenny Joseph

Good poem. I like the way the beginning sets the mood for the narrative. The old man also, assumes fault on the young man's part, but who knows what he was running from?

Is it really called a fish bonker?

My family has always called it this, but I am not sure about widespread usage of the term.