Monthly Archives: March 2015

Revolution In The Head

Posted by Poet Bernard Young on

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Every day I have Beatle-related thoughts.
I might see the name on one of my books or a CD.
I’ll pick up my guitar and play Blackbird or the riff to Day Tripper.
I’ll recall walking across The Abbey Road Zebra Crossing
and then finding Paul’s house, close by the studios in St John’s Wood,
and being photographed in front of its green metal gate
on a warm summer night.

And I’ll suddenly feel the need to hear Day In The Life,
or Hey Jude, which was playing in the car
as I drove over to my mum’s last year.
I was on my way to tell her
that there had been a call from the hospital –
Dad had died. 3 a.m. May 1st.

The movement you need is on your shoulder

Paul: I had a music room at the top of the house
and I was playing ‘Hey Jude’
when I got to the line ‘The movement you need is on your shoulder’
and I turned round to John and said: ‘I’ll fix that if you want.’
And he said: ‘You won’t, you know, that’s a great line, that’s the best line in it.’
Now that’s the other side of a great collaborator – don’t touch it, man, that’s OK.”

Book: Outside Looking In

Posted by Karen on

Image of front cover of book "Outside Looking in"

This book has 61 pages of beautiful images and words about life, relationships, growing old, dreams, loss and love. Some of the pictures and poems have already appeared in this blog. Words and images by Bernard Young, design and production by Karen Cropper.  To view and buy the book see: http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/bernardyoung

Also available to buy as an ebook (PDF) from Scribd

Or Preview on Issuu
http://issuu.com/karencropper/docs/outside_lookin_in?e=0/12029541

Outside Looking In

Posted by Poet Bernard Young on

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I’ve stood on the inside
looking out. But this place
had a different owner then.

We were staying here when
her depressed brother showed his face.
It was difficult but we tried

to jolly him along. I’d
known him have a severe case
of the blues before. He’d often

be a closed shell that would open
gradually and, in the space
of a day or two, he’d step outside

of his troubled self, or at least hide
that troubled self, and face
the day as do other men.

But this is now. That was then.
Though I’m back in this haunted place
wondering if there was more we could have done?

Ackroyd’s Dad

Posted by Poet Bernard Young on

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You’d hear him coughing
in the early hours.
It almost put me off staying

but Ackroyd, Antony
(head of the alphabet
in the grammar school roll call –

Ackroyd? – Here, sir
Arnold? – Here, sir…

and so on
until…

Wilson? – Here, sir
Young? – Here, sir)

was always such a laugh
that to stay over
(they weren’t called sleepovers then)

and have to listen
to his dad’s hacking cough
in a room close by

was a price worth paying.
Yet that friendship
was short-lived.

By the second year
we were in different forms
and had formed different friendships.

I’ve no idea what happened
to Ackroyd or his dad.
I expect he’s dead (the dad).

And thinking, now, about that cough,
(I was about eleven when I stayed
and gave no thought to his dad being ill)

it was probably an early death.

If only

Posted by Poet Bernard Young on

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we could go together,
when it’s time, rather
than leave the other

to deal with all
the grief and bother
that will follow.

If some almighty being
could allow
it to be that simple,

as simple as walking away,
we would simply walk away.
I know, I know,

it’s not as simple as that.
I’m being simplistic.
Because I’m scared.

Line Up

Posted by Poet Bernard Young on

I remember my first day at Grammar School
when all the first years were lined up
in the hall and the Headmaster,
Mr David Rees aka The Beast,
fired off a list of dos and don’ts at us
in his ‘welcoming’ address
and Bill Oakes (who would,
six years later, become
Head Boy) was so nervous
that he threw up all over the floor.

I’m not sure how I (who would never be made
a Prefect let alone Head Boy) felt?
Probably numb.