By The Crizzled Pond

This winter, you might find me standing in the edding by the crizzled pond, rubbing my clumpsing hands and listening to the starnels clack.

Confused?  Probably.  Unless you live close to Northampton, that is.

This week, I’ve been revisiting the poetry of John Clare, delving into a beautifully bound edition of his poems sent to me by a friend.

I’d forgotten just how many delicious words Clare uses - most deriving from his local Northamptonshire dialect.  They’re so delightful, I intend to start using them as often as possible.  Even though I live nowhere near Northamptonshire.

To translate, then:

This winter, you might find me standing in the grass at the head of the field by the pond just freezing over, rubbing my hands, numb with cold, and listening to the starlings chatter.

Sounds much nicer in the vernacular, doesn’t it?

The anthology is selected by Paul Farley and published by Faber and Faber.

Comments

[Audrey Miller]

Was very confused until you translated for me. Thought I was in a foreign lnd. Thank you Helen