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KNITBITS

If you have any knitting-related songs, poems, stories, paintings or other textile miscellanies to share with the rest of the knitting community I'd be pleased to post them here.

When I got back from last year's Knitting & Gardens Tour, nestling in my inbox where these two very different, but equally interesting, moving and amusing poems. One written by a father about his daughter's knitting experiences and the other written by a daughter about her Mum who'd just died.

THE NEEDLES AND THE DAMAGE DONE
My daughter. I brought her up. I taught her wrong from right
And black from white and all the grey bits in between,
Know what I mean? So what does she do,
The artless, heartless little moo? Frightens me
Fartless by sodding off to live in Brighton,
The Sussex Sodom & Gomorrah of yesterday, today,
Tomorrow and well into the middle of next week,
Magnet for every freak from John O’Groats to Lands End,
Chock full of gender-benders, boozers, cruisers,
Serial substance abusers - and unusually, I’m not talking muesli!
The stuff they smoke would make Puff the Magic Dragon choke.
The lengths they go to in pursuit of carnal satisfaction
Would put Casanova in traction.
And are all these salacious South Coast groins enough
To gratify the sole feminine fruit of my loins?
Is there no depth of depravity, no unexplored corporeal cavity
With which she is unacquainted? Brace yourselves, people.
Folk have fainted at this disclosure. Strive to maintain
Your composure. My wild, sensation-seeking child,
With a consenting partner, was sitting in a pub
When she was asked to leave - for knitting!
I must confess that when she said "Hold me, daddy,"
And told me, I was in stitches. I laughed so much
I bust my britches, and she looked at them penitently
And whimpered, " Can I sew them for you, ever so gently? "
The poor kid’s crochet-hooked on yarn-based products.
She’s a fool for wool, a pushover for pullover patterns,
A slattern for tatting, an embroidery hoyden - and she’s not alone.
She only has to pick up a phone to unravel a whole skein
Of thread-heads, running a patchwork of internet chat rooms
Where they groom the unwitting into a total dependence
On knitting, an unsustainable greed for tweed.

Mind you, you gotta be hardy to survive in the sordid world of full Fair Isle
Cardy. Not for them the exquisitely stitched hem, the romance of
" Knit one, purl one. " More a frantic clicketty-clack, flat on your back
And not an ounce of 4-ply. Addicts, wasted on worsted, rove Hove,
So bestial and rotten as to fleece old ladies for a single spool of cotton.
And the social cost of these lost souls is incalculable. When
They need a fix of mixed shades they’re reduced to visiting
Rough-trade haberdashers shops who can be relied upon not to call the cops.
Cast off by society, if they commit the impropriety of coming out
And parading their perversion in a pub or club, they risk a snub
From someone like the churl who told my girl, " I don’t allow spitting,
And I don’t allow knitting! I know it’s crewel hard but, YOU’RE BARRED."

© Peter Wyton
For more of Peter's work click here. He has a new book out which features the above poem, as well as 'Not All Men Are From Mars' in support of Women's Aid with all profits going to the charity. More details at http://www.obergine.com/notallmenarefrommars/

And here's Angela McGee's poem about her late mum, Dollie Marcham.

For those of us blessed to know Dollie
Her knitting was part of her life
She knitted her way through her problems
And cast off her troubles and strife

She was always half way through a jumper,
A teddy or more of those socks !
Or a pile of bright squares for a blanket
From odd bits of wool in a box

There wasn’t a day when her needles
Were idle and cast to one side
In fact we are sure she was knitting
The day we discovered she’d died

Her knitting was there on the arm chair
As if she had just put it down
Then her heart just gave up in an instant
And she passed away all on her own

So we’re sending the knitting with Dollie
We know she’d appreciate that
She’ll need it to keep her self busy
With that regular clickety-clack

So don’t be surprised in the future
if angel turn up in white socks
Or have soft woolly wings that have cables
And are wearing some nice Aran smocks

‘Cause Dollie will be up there knitting
On some fluffy white woollen cloud
She’ll be watching an old tape of Jethro
With a Baileys and laughing aloud

So although Dollie left us quite sudden
There’s no need to feel guilty or cry
That we didn’t have more time to tell her
That we loved her or just say goodbye

She’ll be looking down on us and smiling
And saying she’s just doing fine
And she’s popping off down to the Bingo
When she gets to the end of this line !

So please, when you think about Dollie
Look up to the sky for a while
And think of her knitting in Heaven
And remember her just with a smile

© Angela McGee
Knit on Dollie and God bless.

I was thrilled to receive a copy of Rainbow Chasers' Knitting Song. Rainbow Chasers are a fabulous and unique band put together by Ashley Hutchings and band members Jo Hamilton and Ruth Angell are both avid knitters. If they're touring anywhere near you, be sure not to miss them. Have a listen here. For more info and gig list visit www.folkicons.co.uk/ashnews.htmTHE


Here's a new poem sent to me by Wendy Freebourne, knit designer and poet.
For more of her work click here.

THE TRICOTEUSE
She has brows like a knitting machine; teeth
grinding, sliding back and forth, hands
tense twitching, like the furies, knitting revenge
into every stitch, like Madame Defarge,
the tricoteuse. Like Nero, she could be knitting
while Rome burned. For each

stitch that drops off the needle,
another head will roll. Stitch on
stitch, she builds a scaffold of reprisal
to shore up her pain and punish her foes,
fatally – clickety-clack. As she watches

the guillotine swing, she never lets go of those
knitting pins, pinning elbows to sides, tight,
pressing breasts together, like a turnkey, pointed,
like knives piercing nooses, tearing at thread
and yarn. She never lets up on the rhythm of plains
and purls and slip stitch over, knitting holes for the holy,
knotting sutures for her bleeding wounds. She knits

her worries into the fabric, repetition relieving her
heart’s terror. She experiences no trauma. The edge
of life is taken off, woven into lacy borders, colours,
a jacquard array, balm for her sorry soul. Falling apart,
she knits to keep herself whole.

 

Below are the lyrics of Knitting on my Mind. Written on our 2003 tour of the Lake District & Edinburgh, it was given it's first airing at Lathones Restaurant in St Andrews with fellow knitters giving a rousing vocal and spoons backing.

KNITTING ON MY MIND
Knitted last night and the night before
Husband came in and threw me out of the door
Someday I'll stop
Just give me another sock
Knitting is on my mind

When I'm not knitting I shiver and shake
If my needles are clicking I don't care what I make
Sweaters, scarves or throws
Anything goes
Knitting is on my mind

Fairisles are funky and cables are neat
When I cast on my life feels complete
I need needles, yarn and hues
To cast off the blues
Knitting is on my mind

Finished my knitting I've run out of wool
When my needles are empty everything's dull
Though my fingers are sore
Gotta get to the store
Knitting is on my mind

© Jean Moss, 2003. All rights reserved

 

More Yarn Will Do The Trick is available together with two other tailor-made songs for textile lovers. To order your copy, click here. Below are the lyrics of the title track.

MORE YARN WILL DO THE TRICK
Cast off your cares and woes, set your needles free
come with me to doze and dream beneath the knitters' tree.
We'll spin ourselves a yarn that we've got stacks of cash
to fill a gigantic barn with an ever-increasing stash.
Visit a local yarn store, for it's therapy if you're sick
Why pay shrinks and doctors when more yarn will do the trick?

We'll knit ourselves a planet with a gauge of perfect order
every nation will be patterned with a
wavy aran border.
We'll twist on moss stitch mountain and climb a cabled tree
swim in the sapphire picot edging of a bobble-patterned sea
Don't listen to trouble, don't give way to fears,
Purl away your problems, knit away your tears.

So if you feel the itch and need to get your fingers going
Just open up that pattern book and get those yarns a-flowing
But if your rows are tight and you want to just hang loose
Always park your needles before you hit the juice
The sky will be fairisle with a big intarsia sun
the flora will be cashmere and the buttonholes will be fun.
Our homes will be rainbow-colored, with yarns hand-painted and dyed
we'll knit spaghetti for our supper and in a cable car we'll ride

Visit a local yarn store, for it's therapy if you're sick
Why pay shrinks and doctors when more yarn will do the trick?

We'll cast on many friendships and we'll knit them up real tight
And get together often and party all the night
We'll lift our glasses joyfully and knit the whole town red
Cos when it comes to the good times, knitting's streets ahead!
Don't listen to trouble, don't give way to fears,
Purl away your problems, knit away your tears.

Visit a local yarn store, for it's therapy if you're sick
Why pay shrinks and doctors when more yarn will do the trick?

Why pay shrinks and doctors when more yarn will do the trick?

© Jean Moss, Rory Motion & Roger Smith 2002. All rights reserved

MORE KNITBITS...

Sonnet by Kathy Pearson
The Knitters' Prayer

The Prayse of the Needle (poem)

MaryEllen Pogorski's watercolours

Muse in My Yarn
Full of color, yards of magic abound;
In baskets, boxes and trees all around.
Such a feeling I have never enough.
Do I imply that I could need more stuff?
Two or three more cones or skeins wouldn’t hurt,
Not like taking huge helpings of dessert.
Without touching its lingering fine thread
Wonder escapes me in this late, late hour;
My imagination a lifeless flower.
Like a Greek daughter presiding over art,
Morpheus releases my memory,
Spinning my threads like thunderbolts in parts.
But it is not the needles I seek out,
Only the yarn that I have dreamt about.

A sonnet by Kathy Pearson
Cordova, TN. U.S.A.

Below are watercolours painted by MaryEllen Podgorski (a non-knitter) on our May 2002 tour. We always have a varied and creative group and it was wonderful to see MaryEllen's painterly view of the proceedings.

 
Poppy at Sutton Park
Susan Duckworth's workshop
 
 
Lake Vyrnwy, view from our room
Urn with laburnum
at Sutton Park
Lady Sheffield's
unusual geranium seedhead
 

Edith Bonfanti and Susan Satchwell shared this Knitters' Prayer on our May 2002 tour
If I should knit while I'm asleep
I pray the Lord my gauge doth keep
And if I die before I wake,
I pray I may my knitting take

As you can see Russell Crowe is training hard in order to join one of my upcoming tours!
If you have any pictures of other famous trainees, I'd love to see them.

 

Here's a poem that was sent to me by Sheri Franz, who was on our May 2001 Tour
To all dispersed sorts of arts and trades
I write the needles prayse (that never fades).
So long as children shall be got or borne,
So long as garments shall be made or worne,
So long as hemp or flax, or sheep shall bear
Their linen woolen fleeces yeare by yeare,
So long as silk-wormes, with exhausted spoile,
Of their own entrails for man's gaine shall toyle,
Yea till the world be quite dissolv'd and past,
So long at least, the needles' use shall last.

The Prayse of the Needle. John Taylor, the Water Poet, (1580-1653)