AS SHE GOES by David Erdos - Poem 17 from THE PEOPLES PRISON

 Poem 17 from THE PEOPLES PRISON

AS SHE GOES

  

And after (Harold) Budd, Babs, a different human beauty,

One made of strength and survival and of course

The feted breasts of her youth. But before that,

Her birth in a poor part of London, ravaged by war

And the absence of a Dad she adored, her lost truth.

 

From the blitz came the glitz of post war showbusiness,

Tawdry perhaps but entrancing to this bright city bird

Who flew through dim rooms, sparking said dark

With her laughter; a never sorry near Dolly, generous

With a handful and a pleasing curve none could spurn.

 

Her talent carried her, as a singer and actress, from Soho

To Stratford and back again to the Strand. By way

Of Pinewood and Cheam, Camber Sands, Eastbourne,

Morecambe, a Gracie Fields for the Sixties who died

Fighting a war she’d not planned. And yet she lived

 

That former London life at full thrust, as a friend

To the Krays, spliced to Ronnie. Where others like Joan

Collins travelled, Barbara remained localised. She made

Sid James fall in love, freeing him from excesses,

Then let him down gently when his tired heart failed him

 

Just as the contract of love finalised. From her bargain

Glamour, to age, Windsor remained herself for the public.

Making near Shakespearian soap in Eastenders, she turned

Her wilderness years to starred court. In which a national

Treasure is found and all or any faults are forgiven.

 

Especially in the face of Alzheimer’s as it starts

Eating the sense time has bought. For the Covidian Age

Has been an Ice Age, too. We’re all frozen. Not just in this

Cold December or this year as a whole, but in loss.

So many have died in the realm of so called Light

 

Entertainment, that it would seem a new darkness

And the challenge within becomes Boss. That may well be

A trite little rhyme but this is a difficult season. To contain

The truth in it and reflect on this dear Dame’s end is a test

As to what we now do and who there is left still to follow.

 

For someone my age, Babs was childhood. But tonight, I am

Growing alone. So, what’s best? The nostalgia she stokes

Along with those short lost others? Or, the need to begin again

And find others to epitomise life and love? Quite possibly

Death laughs at us or reluctantly writes the scripts we part

 

Honour. As rich colours cloud, the mist masks us. And yet

It mirrored us once from above. Take care Barbara Deaks.

Your husband and friends won’t forget you. As you go,

You take with you a country so very different to this. It is

A blessing perhaps that you did not in the end recognise it,

 

For despite that pain, your past pleasure has finally earned

Your starred kiss. What will I receive on my day? I silently

Ask my Mother. I turn to look up at her photo, but she

Doesn’t reply. Now, she knows. What waits now for me,

But then mothers should know their sons’ secrets.

 

And so I write now for women and for the seeds

Of birth that fate sows’.

 

 

 

                                                         

 

David Erdos, December 11th 2020

For more poems from David Erdos visit The Corona Diaries collection 

David Erdos is an actor, writer, director with over 300 professional credits. He is a published poet, playwright, essayist and illustrator. He has lectured on all disciplines in theatre and film for leading performing arts colleges, schools and universities around the world. His books include EASY VERSES FOR DIFFICULT TIMES, THE SCAR ON THE CLOUD, OIL ON SILVER, NEWS FROM MARS, CHANGING PLACES WITH LIGHT (penniless press) and BYZANTIUM with the photographer Max Reeves. He is a contributing editor for The International Times and maker of documentaries all over the world. David’s work has been acclaimed by many leading figures including Harold Pinter, Heathcote Williams, Alan Moore, Andrew Kotting, Chris Petit and Iain Sinclair in whose recent book THE LAST LONDON, David features. He can be reached at David.erdos@sky.com.

David Erdos

©    David Erdos has asserted his moral rights as author of his work and has full copyright.