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August, at Your Pleasure
The year, by August, late in middle age,
gives knowing winks to autumn as the gold
of summer sun and wheat fields turn the page,
as youth, prolonged by zest, lets loose its hold.
Recall those Augusts past, upon a beach
in Albion—the sand, the sea, the dune;
of innocence beyond an adult’s reach,
of red-raw naked shoulder-blades at noon.
The path ahead—two-thirds near done—breeds fear
of swirling gusts presaging stormy change;
so focus on the now, the joy of here,
quit gazing at a visage growing strange.
Remain at heart that child on Albion’s shore,
though August harvests nourish winter’s maw.
.
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In Magaluf (Balearic Islands)
—a rondeau
In Magaluf the tourists come,
get drunk on beer and shots of rum,
tequila, whisky, cheap champagne,
an annual Balearic bane
that makes my town a ghastly slum.
They drop their pants, they flash their bum,
they binge until their brains are numb;
they act as if they’re half insane,
__in Magaluf.
They strew discarded chewing gum,
litter, spew and make us glum.
They swamp the beach, the country lane,
they bear the chavvy Mark of Cain;
but we’re no longer staying mum—
__in Magaluf.
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chavvy: low-class
.
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Paul A. Freeman is the author of Rumours of Ophir, a crime novel which was taught in Zimbabwean high schools and has been translated into German. In addition to having two novels, a children’s book and an 18,000-word narrative poem (Robin Hood and Friar Tuck: Zombie Killers!) commercially published, Paul is the author of hundreds of published short stories, poems and articles.
These are both very skillful poems, Paul, which I’ve enjoyed reading now a couple of times. “Magaluf” is a skilled rondeau — a favorite form for me, and it succeeds even with a most unexpected subject matter.
But of the two, I am most drawn to “August.” I especially like the personification of “the year” in “August” but find myself most enchanted by your very evocative use of the “Albion.” “Britain” or “England” would have been easier but not nearly as interesting. This one word choice imparts the poem with a historical timelessness and a certain romanticism. And then there is the addition of color-significance, since you mention gold and red and Albion is etymologically derived from Latin alba meaning white as a reference to the White Cliffs of Dover. And that, in turn, fits into your beach with new resonance. This is an outstanding example of how important word-choice — just one word — can be in a poem.
Thanks for reading and commenting, Brian. I often use the word ‘Albion’ in poems about England. It’s much more evocative.
“Chavvy” comes from the U.K. acronym CHAV. It stands for “Council Housing And Violent,” and refers to dangerous youths living in tough neighborhoods centered on public housing established by the government. It certainly doesn’t refer to tourists who have the cash to vacation in the Balearic isles.
Put ‘Magaluf British tourists ‘ in Google, Joseph. The holidays described in my poem, in Magaluf (on the Balearic island of Majorca), in particular, are package holidays, principally taken by young Brits for clubbing, binge drinking and casual sex. Magaluf is also known colloquially as ‘Shagaluf’, from the word ‘shag’, a slang British word meaning ‘casual sex’ (verb and noun). I think you may have similar spring break venues in America.
Just as POSH (Port Out, Starboard Home), referring to people who could afford the most expensive, most shaded, passage on ships travelling to and from India, CHAV has shifted its meaning over the years.
It has been a long time since I have seen the word, “Albion.” Like Brian said, this adds so much to your poem about “August.”
Indeed, Albion brings to mind a purer era and all that goes with it – knights, Camelot, the round table, chivalry.
Thanks for reading, Roy.
These poems show epic skill and mastery of the English language. “In Magaluf” is witty, and the rhymes look effortless. I’m more impressed by “August, at Your Pleasure.” No doubt the title itself is alluring. There are so many interesting lines in it; “as youth, prolonged by zest, lets loose its hold” subtly signifies the impending end of the year and the entry of Winter into the scene; “of swirling gusts presaging stormy change” signifies the murky skies of monsoon and those frequent downpours that last the streets; and the closing couplet. Superb work, Mr. Freeman!
Thanks for reading and commenting, Shamik. I tried hard to describe August a bit differently than would be expected. I love writing about nature, but struggle to keep away from the old tropes. In fact, it’s nigh on impossible to keep away from the old tropes!
I suppose there have been rondeaux written in celebration of Majorca, but I would bet a plugged pfennig that yours is the first ever written regarding the enclave of Magaluf! And I doubt very much that the place is worthy of the honor! August, on the other hand, brings back memories of years long past when my father would have the entire month of August off for an extended family vacation each year. And when our August vacation came to an end, summer ended with it, followed by the inevitable return of school. Nostalgia neatly caught.
Thanks for reading and commenting, James.
The Magaluf poem was written to a prompt about locals getting miffed by the numbers and the behaviour of visiting tourists. It is ironic that until the advent of package tours in the 1970s, the Balearic Islands were the playground of the rich and famous. I recall how perplexed I was reading an Agatha Christie-type novel set on Majorca, and every character was rich and high born.
As a child, one week of August was reserved for our annual summer holiday (Bournemouth or Devon). Posher families even had two weeks! It was heavily budgeted and did mark the transition time back to school. I recall one time we had to take the first week of September, and I shocked everyone (and myself, literally) by going swimming. Despite this and horrendous sunburn, yes, a lot of nostalgia.
“Youth prolonged by zest” makes for a hale and hearty August, but you end the second quatrain, Paul, with the least desirable of the old tropes, namely, sunburn. I’m wondering to whom the imperatives are addressed. Is the year speaking to the reader? That’s how I make sense of “quit gazing at a visage growing strange.” The final rhyme of “shore” with “maw” may be perfect for you, but I’m very glad it is not so in my dialect.
This poem is good at doing new things with inescapable old tropes, and I agree with all that’s been said about the value of the word “Albion.” It is a real fantasyland for those who remember it, and an imagined one for the rest of us.
Thanks for reading and commenting, Margaret. The second quatrain’s mention of sunburn is a bit personal. I suffered horrendous sunburn back in the day, leading to huge blisters and swathes of skin shedding. My father’s comments, such as, ‘Do you want to be the only lily-white person on the beach?’ (this was before fear of skin cancer) didn’t help, so I didn’t cover up when I should have.
Evan did warn me about the ‘shore’ / ‘maw’ thing. Perhaps I’ll work on that last couplet.
Thanks again for your comments and your thoroughness. They’re always helpful
“August…” is lovely, making use of the sonnet’s turns to arrive at a resolution: carpe diem! I particularly like how the poetic voice’s own stage in life is mirrored in the time of year.
“Magaluf” devotes the plaintiveness of the rondeau’s form to a light subject — but the form alludes to the sadness and disgust at the scene. (When I briefly lived in Spain I avoided the Balearic Islands for that reason). I think the form you chose subtly suits the subject.
Your take on my August poem is much as I hoped, Adam. I was referencing those week-long August holidays and the seemingly relentless sun – though at other times it teemed down.
When I wrote the Magaluf piece, there were multiple demonstrations going on on various Spanish islands and resort areas about the numbers and behaviour of, largely, British tourists, everything from wearing flipflops (?) unruliness on the streets until the early hours.
Thanks for reading.
“wheat fields turn the page” is very fitting. It brings to mind the phrase “dog-eared”, which usually refers to well-read book pages, but also makes me think of middle age and the pages of life, so to speak.
I listened to an online pronunciation of “maw”, and it sounds very similar to “shore”. I suppose it depends on whether you’re American or British, hence the confusion.
Thanks for reading and commenting, Cheryl.
I’ve been looking through the different pronunciations of ‘maw’ (2) and ‘shore’ (3 depending on the presence and hardness of the ‘r’ sound), and yes, what a difference between British and American English – two nations separated by a common language, I’ve heard said.
Food for thought, indeed!