{"id":18,"date":"2014-03-13T12:38:00","date_gmt":"2014-03-13T12:38:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.artsrainbow.com\/coventrymusicarchives\/2014\/03\/13\/hobo-magazine-poetry-pages-1973-5-part-1\/"},"modified":"2014-03-13T12:38:00","modified_gmt":"2014-03-13T12:38:00","slug":"hobo-magazine-poetry-pages-1973-5-part-1","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.artsrainbow.com\/coventrymusicarchives\/2014\/03\/13\/hobo-magazine-poetry-pages-1973-5-part-1\/","title":{"rendered":"Hobo Magazine – Poetry Pages 1973 \/ 5 (Part 1)"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n<\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n

The following are contributions of poetry that were either published in Hobo or sent in for publication c 1973 \/ 5<\/b><\/p>\n

Al Yedd<\/span><\/b>
\n
<\/span><\/b>
\nTHE BACKWATER by Al Yedd – 1973.<\/b><\/span><\/p>\n

\nPublished in Hobo No 4 Summer 1974<\/b><\/div>\n
\n
\n<\/a><\/div>\n


<\/b><\/div>\n

\nIt had been shortly after midday when the two men had
\nsteered their cabin cruiser into the backwater.<\/p>\n

Two snow white swans glided passed, turned and sat
\nmotionless on the water studying the cruiser.<\/p>\n

\u201c Must be nice to be a swa<\/i>n\u201d David said.
\nMarc was gazing at the sky.
\n\u201cYes<\/i>\u201d he agreed absently \u201cBut don’t worry about that <\/i>
\nnow; it looks as though we’re in for a storm.<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n

Dark storm clouds, which had blown up while they had
\nbeen talking, finally blotted out the sun.<\/p>\n

David was not listening:
\n \u201cOnly two swans on this section of the river as far as I know<\/i>\u2026..\u201d
\na titanic peal of thunder cut him short: The reeds,
\nwhich looked emerald green under the dark sky, shivered
\nwith the noise. A jagged white sear ripped the sky
\napart, almost immediately followed by another clash of
\nthe aerial cannons. David glanced up and spoke quietly: \u201cDry lightning. Won’t last too long. This part of the world is noted for its freak storms<\/i>.”<\/p>\n

Up above them the peals and explosions continued and
\nthe lightning illuminated the cabin cruiser. Presently
\nthe storm, with its echoes of violence and destruction
\nof ages past and to come, ceased. Peace returned to
\nthe backwater.<\/p>\n

Four swans glided downstream past the now empty cabin cruiser.
\n………………………………..<\/p>\n

THE CORRIDOR by Al Yedd 1973<\/span><\/b><\/p>\n

\nSubmitted to Hobo but not published at the time owing to space.<\/b><\/div>\n
\n
<\/b><\/div>\n

The Corridor exists. It occupies a place in creation.<\/p>\n

\nThe Corridor is long. It has no end. No beginning.
\n*                                     *                             *
\nThe Corridor was inhabited. Along the white part <\/div>\n
\nwalked man 1. He had lived there all his life. Man 1 <\/div>\n
\nstopped. The Corridor had changed. It was no longer <\/div>\n
\nwhite. It was grey.<\/p>\n

Man 1 did not think or speak about the change, <\/p><\/div>\n

\nrather he noticed it instinctively. Man 1 walked on. Why?
\nInstinct<\/p>\n

He stopped. Terror washed over him in waves which <\/p><\/div>\n

\nthreatened to drown him. A few yards in front of him <\/div>\n
\nstood a figure.<\/p>\n

Gradually the terror subsided. Man 2 moved closer.<\/p>\n

Terrible images in man one\u2019s brain accompanied the<\/p><\/div>\n

\n approach. He saw a figure stretched out on a floor, <\/div>\n
\nwrithing in pain. Man 1 knew that Man 2 was offering <\/div>\n
\nthis to him.<\/p>\n

He started to run and was followed by a terrible noise <\/p><\/div>\n

\ncalled laughter. (The Corridor walls had changed colour <\/div>\n
\nagain).<\/p>\n

Man 1 ran down the now black walled Corridor, followed <\/p><\/div>\n

\nby Man 2\u2019s laughter and the chance to experience pain <\/div>\n
\n(really pleasure), unaware that he was vainly trying to <\/div>\n
\nflee from his other (evil?) self.<\/div>\n
\n……………………………………..<\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n

THE SAVED by Al Yedd<\/span><\/b><\/p>\n

\nSubmitted to Hobo but not published at the time owing to space.<\/b><\/div>\n
\n
<\/b><\/div>\n

In a place of perfection, in a time of morals, there<\/p>\n

\nexists a square, white room. In the centre of the room <\/div>\n
\nthere is a small, white, square table supported by delicately <\/div>\n
\ncurving legs.<\/p>\n

On top of the table are two champagne glasses <\/p><\/div>\n

\nand a large bottle of champagne. Occasionally a man <\/div>\n
\nand a women arrive. They are dressed in white suits, <\/div>\n
\ntheir pockets bulging with money. They drink some <\/div>\n
\nchampagne and then depart.<\/p>\n

They are citizens of Perfection, dwellers in <\/p><\/div>\n

\nMorals. They carry their god in their pockets.<\/p>\n
\n
\nBut is not their god called the Root of all Evil?<\/span><\/div>\n
\n
<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThe man and the women. The saved and the Damned – who can say?<\/span><\/div>\n
\n
<\/span><\/div>\n
\nEnds…..<\/span><\/div>\n
\n
\n………………………………………………………………………….<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAl Yedd<\/b> and Trev Teasdel<\/b> in Hobo<\/i> Issue 4 summer 1974. Graphic by John Alderson<\/b><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/a><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n


<\/span><\/b>ODE TO A STORM <\/span><\/b>By Gray Buckley<\/span><\/b><\/div>\n

The crystal drops fall
\nFrom the heavens above
\nOn to the silk-edged roofs<\/p>\n

\n<\/a><\/div>\n

And the couples in love.<\/p>\n

Into the surge of the gutter
\nAnd the turbid pipe-mouths
\nOn the convexed \u2018brellas
\nAnd flock o\u2019 primitive shrouds<\/p>\n

Archways and doorways
\nBus shelters and canopies
\nAre all engaged <\/div>\n

\nin a task of mercies.<\/p>\n

People hurry, guardians appalled
\nTheir figments discouraged
\nThe aged plough on, the pompous
\nStep about like frogs undernourished<\/p>\n

The leaves and the plants collect
\nWater in their arms so plentiful
\nWhen the rain ceases
\nThe sky no longer dull.<\/p>\n

The procured liquid extends
\nWelcome to the passing bee
\nTherefore the gay life
\nExtends it\u2019s help to ecology.<\/p>\n

The domestics in the field
\nBow down to the rain
\nTheir legs folded beneath, upon
\nThe vacant grass.<\/p>\n

The bird of the wing
\nHas no desire to sing
\nFor his plumage is drowned
\nHis appearance quite profound.<\/p>\n

The storm will soon pass
\nLeaving prominent scars
\nBut releasing us of this gloom.<\/p>\n

Gray Buckley<\/b> – Published Hobo<\/i> Issue 3  February 1974<\/div>\n

\n<\/div>\n
\nIt was Gray Buckley<\/b> who introduced Al Yedd<\/b> to Hobo through this letter – <\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\n<\/a><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n

VISIONS OF MULTI-STORIED CITIES <\/span><\/b><\/div>\n

\n <\/span>By Trev Teasdel (WRITTEN JUNE 1970)<\/b><\/div>\n
\n
<\/b><\/div>\n

Multi-storied cities growing to the sun.
\nMulti-storied people in abundance.
\nConsuming congested oxygen<\/p>\n

\n<\/a>through a piping system designed by the electronic architect.
\nA computer for the Queen is launching a porcelain replica of the earth <\/div>\n
\nto cater for the anticipated increase in population, <\/div>\n
\nsaid likely to double present numbers very shortly.<\/div>\n
\n
\nThe Pope, now ruler of the earth, <\/div>\n
\nstill forbids the use of contraceptives.
\nNew born babies are fitted with synthetic digestive systems, <\/div>\n
\ndesigned to digest human excrement,<\/div>\n
\nas food is very scarce.<\/div>\n
\n
\nThere\u2019s so many people, that they are all contained in blocks, <\/div>\n
\nstanding on each other\u2019s shoulders.
\nEvery necessity comes via a pipe or complex pulley system,
\nperiscopes are fitted for the aristocracy.<\/div>\n
\n
\nBetween each bank of towns is a small reservation <\/div>\n
\nfor controlled exercise and breeding purposes.
\nA special mansion is allocated for the appointed maintainers of the cities <\/div>\n
\nand the robots fold up into a draw. <\/div>\n
\nBoredom is their plight and schizophrenia breeds like flies. <\/div>\n
\nComputerised music harmonises their idle thoughts. <\/div>\n
\nAll music must be computerised and the musician\u2019s union has been dissolved. <\/div>\n
\nCreativity is dead.<\/p>\n
\n
\n…………………<\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\n

\nComment From the Hobo Vox site 2007<\/h3>\n
\n<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n
\n
\n\"BroadgateGnome\"<\/div>\n

  And you wrote that in 1970, mm, well before Coventry adopted the claustrophobia as a design element.<\/p>\n

Posted by: BroadgateGnome<\/b> | 03\/08\/2007 at 11:18 AM<\/div>\n

\n<\/div>\n
\nThis link takes you to plans for the re-development of Coventry’s City Centre. http:\/\/www.historiccoventry.co.uk\/postwar\/precinct.php<\/b><\/a><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n<\/a><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nSKYMEN<\/strong><\/span> by Trev Teasdel July 1970<\/strong>
Published in Hobo Issue No 4<\/span><\/strong><\/span>
\nSkymen must look to
        To a <\/span>c<\/span>o<\/span>lo<\/span>ur<\/span>fu<\/span>l<\/span> firmament
            Red<\/span>
           
                                     Green<\/span>
                        Brown<\/span>
                            Yellow<\/span>
                                    of fields
                                And forests\u2026.
And the cities (multi-storied)<\/span>
            H
            A
            N
            G like clouds;<\/span>
                    Like fluorescent<\/span>
                    i
                    g
                     h
                    t
                    fittings<\/span><\/span><\/span> <\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n
\n
<\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n
\n
<\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n

THOUGHT FOR THE MONTH \u2013 AN ALLEGORY<\/span><\/b>
\nFrom HOBO No 2 August 1973 – Comment on the Scene! Trev Teasdel<\/b> Aug 1973<\/p>\n

There was a community of Greenflies<\/b><\/span> and all the Greenflies<\/span><\/b> were bored and each greenfly<\/b><\/span> told the other how culturally apathetic their community was. \u201cNobody ever does anything \u2018ere<\/i>\u2019\u201d they were heard to say. One or two greenflies <\/b><\/span>noticed that all the greenflies<\/b><\/span> were saying the same thing as if it was only the others that were at fault. So they decided to get up off their butts and let the other greenfly<\/b><\/span> know of this situation and that no fairy.<\/div>\n

\n<\/div>\n

\nSHE TOOK A WALK IN MY EYE<\/b>
\nby Trev Teasdel <\/b>– also published in Hobo issue No 2 – written 1968 <\/div>\n

\n<\/div>\n
\nYou came crashing through my cornea
\nLike a well aimed spear
\nYou floated through my aqueous humour
\nWith the speed of a rumour
\nMy pupils opened wide
\nWhen you rushed in like the tide
\nMy lenses did expand
\nWhen you showed your magic wand
\nBut through the vitreous humour
\nThings must’ve got too hot
\nBecause you played around
\nIn my blind spot.
\nYou forgot to look around the curve<\/div>\n
\nWhen you landed on my optic nerve.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n……………..<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThis poem also appeared in Trev’s book  <\/span>ESCAPED POET<\/strong>  – Poetic Licence Collective 1984<\/span>
\n………………………………….<\/p>\n


12\/18\/2006 from the original Hobo Vox site<\/p>\n

Poems by Veronica Zundel<\/span><\/b><\/div>\n

\n
<\/span><\/b><\/div>\n
\n
\nINCISION<\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n
\nBy Veronica Zundel \u2013 from HOBO No 4 1974<\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nYour hand burns through my belly<\/span><\/div>\n
\n         Hold<\/span><\/div>\n
\n               This knife steady I say<\/span><\/div>\n
\nI can\u2019t keep still much longer<\/span><\/div>\n
\n                The knife slips<\/span><\/div>\n
\n                          My belly burns through my head.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n ……………………………..<\/div>\n
\nS L O P E<\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nI<\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n
\nAm<\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n
\n    Hiding<\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n
\n              But<\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n
\n                  You<\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n
\n                       Can<\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n
\n                             See<\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n
\n                                 me<\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\n …………………………………………………………<\/div>\n

Veronica is now a published author – here are some links to her sites and work. Her work comprises poetry
\nreligion & theology, women’s studies. She also gives seminars\/workshops, talks to adults, writes reviews and
\nwrites for magazines\/newspaper. She has produced – Compiler of 3 anthologies for Lion Publishing.<\/b> Author of ‘Going Out<\/i>‘ (Hodder 1990<\/b>) Regular writer for BRF ‘New Daylight<\/i>‘ notes and ‘Woman Alive<\/i>‘ magazine. Guardian article on Veronica http:\/\/www.ekklesia.co.uk\/content\/news_syndication\/article_060422menno.shtml<\/a><\/div>\n

\n<\/div>\n
\nAn interview with Veronica for Rebecca Writes<\/b> http:\/\/rebeccahgiltrow.blogspot.co.uk\/2013\/02\/writer-veronica-zundel.html<\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\n<\/a>Veronica Zundel’s books on Amazon http:\/\/www.amazon.co.uk\/Books\/s?ie=UTF8&field-author=Veronica+Zundel&page=1&rh=n:266239,p_27:Veronica+Zundel<\/a><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nAnother site for Veronica http:\/\/www.secondlightlive.co.uk\/members\/veronicazundel.shtml<\/a><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nhttp:\/\/ftwpoetsagainstatos.wordpress.com\/2013\/05\/13\/veronica-zundel\/<\/a><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nVeronica Zundel’s poem in Hobo Magazine Summer 1974<\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\n<\/a><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\n…………………………..<\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nAnother Coventry poet who submitted work was Bob Davies. <\/b>One of his poems appeared with Veronica’s in the hobo page above. <\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n

SPHINX<\/b><\/span><\/p>\n

\nBy Bob Davies (Willenhall Wood) from Hobo No 4 1974<\/span><\/b><\/p>\n
\n <\/span><\/strong>Her baby blue eyes<\/span><\/div>\n
\n               Gave the impression of<\/span><\/div>\n
\nA gentle creature<\/span><\/div>\n
\n                Serene and placid.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nHer beauty shining like the sun<\/span><\/div>\n
\n                I know you shouldn\u2019t go by looks<\/span><\/div>\n
\nBut I couldn\u2019t help myself.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n                She was far too good to be true.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nShe had the appearance of tolerance<\/span><\/div>\n
\n                 All the sweetness of a flower.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nBut as we talked and time flew<\/span><\/div>\n
\n                 I noticed a nasty streak,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nLike a SPHINX, half-women, half lion<\/span><\/div>\n
\n                 So I thought any minute<\/span><\/div>\n
\nIf the mood took you<\/span><\/div>\n
\n                 You might pick up that brick<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAnd smash my skull.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n
<\/span><\/div>\n
\n………………<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThe Last Tourist<\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n
\n<\/span><\/div>\n
\nBy Bob Davies Aug 1973<\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n
\nThe last American tourist<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAmbles his way through<\/span><\/div>\n
\nA ruined Cathedral,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAs the first art student<\/span><\/div>\n
\nApproaches the polytechnic.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n          The end of the Summer.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nThe tramp sleeps on the<\/span><\/div>\n
\nParkbench for the last time this year.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThe artist makes his last sketch<\/span><\/div>\n
\nOf a great masterpiece no one will ever see.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThe poet in his trench coat looks<\/span><\/div>\n
\nCynically around, accessing his<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFellow man, then writes his last line<\/span><\/div>\n
\nOf the hottest summer since 67<\/span><\/div>\n
\n           And the pigeons remain<\/span><\/div>\n
\nTenants\u2019 year in, year out.<\/span><\/div>\n
\nBob Davies 1974<\/b><\/span><\/div>\n
\n
<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFinished Paintings<\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n
\n <\/span><\/strong>I have paintings on my walls<\/span><\/div>\n
\nBut they don\u2019t make me happy<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThey sit there staring,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nDead to the world around.<\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nTheir flesh is fading,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nThe smiles of long ago are false now,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nAs they were so many years ago,<\/span><\/div>\n
\nPaint is flaking, falling like<\/span><\/div>\n
\nFeathers to the floor below<\/span><\/div>\n

Bob Davies 1974<\/b><\/div>\n

\n
\n………………………………..<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n
<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\nTHOUGHTS FROM THE TOP OF MY HEAD<\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n
\nBy ALAN \u2013 Earlsdon, <\/span><\/strong>\u2013 published in Hobo No3 1974<\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\n\u00b7        <\/span><\/span>The crystallization of the material world becomes void after the concept of wealth becomes the ulterior motive.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n\u00b7        <\/span><\/span>It does not really matter whether you\u2019re old or young; the sparks of idealism become potent with the passing of time.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n\u00b7        <\/span><\/span>To be born with the idea of truth in its natural form is irrelevant to the course of mankind.<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n
<\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\n<\/a><\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nThis next one didn’t make Hobo and I’m not sure now who it was from! His note is included here.<\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n

\nI look out on the city<\/p>\n

\n<\/a><\/div>\n

On the golden neon lighting.<\/p>\n

And I think about the morning<\/p>\n

and the people in the sunlight.<\/p>\n

\nSongs I have written<\/p>\n

but never known the meaning.<\/p>\n

Things I have looked at without seeing.<\/p>\n

Like the enemy’s I’ve made<\/p>\n

before I’ve known them.<\/p><\/div>\n

\n<\/div>\n
\n……………………………………<\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n
\nI received a couple of letters from Coventry musician and poet Michael Curtis<\/b> in 1974 – here is one of his poems. This poem didn;t make it to hobo – mostly because the magazine was hard to fund and energy went into organising the Hobo Workshop gigs from the autumn of 1974.<\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n

\nSECURE STRANDS <\/b><\/p>\n

\nby Michael Curtis (Written in pembrokeshire June 1974)<\/b><\/div>\n
\nhis tethered eyes reached after
\na lark
\nstring-snapped kite, tugged and dallied
\nby the wind to a cloudless noon –
\nthe cell
\nwithin his vision
\ntwisted this way, twisted that
\ntied in its tantrums
\nunable to take wings
\nwhistling and jabbing
\nand in the end soaring
\nout of sight.<\/div>\n
\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n\n
<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Letter 1 from Michael Curtis 1974<\/p>\n
\n<\/a><\/div>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n
\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The following are contributions of poetry that were either published in Hobo or sent in for publication c 1973 \/ 5 Al Yedd THE BACKWATER by Al Yedd – 1973. Published in Hobo No 4 Summer 1974 It had been … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":166,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artsrainbow.com\/coventrymusicarchives\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artsrainbow.com\/coventrymusicarchives\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artsrainbow.com\/coventrymusicarchives\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsrainbow.com\/coventrymusicarchives\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsrainbow.com\/coventrymusicarchives\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=18"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsrainbow.com\/coventrymusicarchives\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsrainbow.com\/coventrymusicarchives\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/166"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artsrainbow.com\/coventrymusicarchives\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=18"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsrainbow.com\/coventrymusicarchives\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=18"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artsrainbow.com\/coventrymusicarchives\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=18"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}