No, this blog isn't turning into poetry corner but I spotted the poem below in a collection entitled Bricklight: Poems from the Labour Movement in East London edited and introduced by Chris Searle (Pluto Press 1980), and I thought I would cut and paste it on my blog if for no other reason than the fact that it's author would be the last person you would assume it to be. (Though in fairness, anyone with a passing knowledge of the author's background history - his hinterland, so to speak - would get an inkling.)
I'm afraid I don't have the lit crit skills to determine whether it's a good poem or not. It doesn't really do anything for me, but what do I know? My favourite poem is that one recited in the film Four Weddings and a Funeral by that actor who should never have been cast as Inspector Rebus.
In Limehouse
In Limehouse, in Limehouse, before the break of day,
I hear the feet of many men who go upon their way,
Who wander through the City.
The grey and cruel City.
Through streets that have no pity,
The streets where men decay.
In Limehouse, in Limehouse, by night as well as day,
I hear the feet of children who go to work or play,
Of children born to sorrow,
The workers of tomorrow,
How shall they work tomorrow
Who get no bread today.
In Limehouse, in Limehouse, today and every day
I see the weary mothers who sweat their souls away:
Poor, tired mothers, trying
To hush the feeble crying
Of little babies dying
For want of bread today.
In Limehouse, in Limehouse, I'm dreaming of the day
When evil time shall perish and be driven clean away.
When father, child and mother
Shall live and love each other,
And brother help his brother
In happy work and play.
I guess the clue to the identity of the author is in the title of the poem itself, but if you can't guess who it is then click on the link.
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