Final Draft?
March 21, 2007
A Bike Called Fury
What makes it worse
is that My Fury was probably stolen
by a man
A man – with bolt cutters.
wearing a hood and heavy gloves,
dodging cameras on the run. Yes-
In all likelihood,
it was a man
that took my Fury from me.
My Little Fury.
You were fire engine red
and smelt of oil with
Fury painted on your pole
in silver letters.
My Little Fury.
You moved like lightening
Monday mornings,
slamming rain and
dodging panes
like shattered glory.
Fury. Your tires never broke.
You fucked with four wheel drives.
and caught their eyes,
like new glass marbles.
You made grown men cry
with lust and longing,
and wanting Fury
like a substance.
Fury.
Do you remember the time
we beat a track
down Central Railway
Cycle path?
Sunshine pouring on the trail
weather hot, like a pail
of boiling vinegar.
Fury. Remember that November
we went to Wales?
Freezing rain in liquid gales?
Remember the day
I brought you home?
Remember the man
who stroked your nose?
The one who told us
Fury was my sign?
Fury.
We were like
Gwen Steffani
and Madonna,
Sappho, Kali,
Cleopatra.
My Little Fury.
We were Torvel and Dean
without the fights,
Robson and Jerome
with spark and bite.
You were nimbler
than a car,
You were fleeter
than a horse – Darling Fury
not insured
and giving the come on
with shining pedal and curving guard.
You were almost actually asking-
but you were not actually asking.
There was no permission given.
No free rides.
No undone chain.
No begging tires.
Listen
We don’t take kindly
to being riled-
we don’t like punks who think their fly
and don’t much care
for thieves with knives
Listen.
Fury.
Here’s my sign.
If he’s still with you
take what’s mine.
Pull your break cord.
Fan your fire
My little Fury.
Break the bastard
I like the ending better for definite. I’ve sort of boiled down my crit into a single sentence: there’s rather a lot of it, though a lot of it is good.
Love the repetition of Fury. Really good timing and awareness of sonics on that I think. Also the more I read it the more I like how the narrative builds up pace and energy and maybe shortening would sacrifice some of that.
Yes, to fly with speed the independence and strength without reins. The mind has ties that bind over time and distance. If you feel that way for Fury, how much more for the one who is lucky to have your love? Great verse, Lydia.
I prefer the original last two lines:
Break the man
who rides you now.
I also think perhaps the entire thing could be maybe not quite so long. Try as I might, I find myself skimming when I get toward the middle. But, that may relate more to my personal reading/writing habits. 🙂
Hi Alex, Thanks-the stuff you’ve said here and on messenger has been really helpful. When it comes to potential things to change, I agree-the length is the issue-just because the process of redraft seems to have flagged up how much non essential material the piece contained.
I’ve already taken out quite alot for that reason. All the anecdotal waffle about the boy racer from the first draft and in the latest also the bit about doves scattering etc. I read it last night in Nottingham and it seemed to go down reasonably. Reading really gave me sense of the bits of timing that worked-specifically the bit at the beginning and the ‘not insured’ bit towards the end. Don’t think I can take out anymore-without compromising the narrative – but open to suggestions.
Glad you liked this ending better. I quite liked the ‘break the cunt’ line but couldn’t make the rhyme fit.
Thanks again for all your help X
Hey Tomach,
Thanks for coming back. Glad you liked-you’re pretty poetic in your feedback too!:)
Hi Lola,
It’s so helpful to get such honest reflection. Yes, maybe you’re right-certainly if that’s your experience when you get to the middle I perhaps do need to take another look. I liked the original ending too-and yes-someone else actually said the same when I performed it last night…just don’t know how to make the rhyme work with the preceding lines. Will have a think. Thanks again.
LXXXXXX
Great piece … I love the anthropomorphous quality of this poem. Brilliant, JP