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David Selzer is a writer of poetry, prose fiction, screenplays and stage plays. He embraces digital platforms to share his work of more than fifty years… READ MORE
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AT THE BRIDGE
When I was poorly my mother read to me
from Macaulay’s ‘Lays of Ancient Rome’:
Then out spoke brave Horatius, the Captain
of the Gate: “To every man upon
this earth, death cometh soon or late; And how
can man die better than facing fearful odds…”
He lived, was gifted land, and made in bronze.
But what I remember from those sickly days
is an image of the Captain, sword drawn,
and his two comrades. Behind them,
a second line of defence, they had fired
the only bridge across the Tiber.
Their duty was to stay the baying hordes
charging down the hillside towards them.
I see them now, three figures in a fiery
valley filled with flickering shadows,
waiting for the enemy.
6 responses to “AT THE BRIDGE”
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Wow, she called on the warrior spirit in you, by evoking the powerful image of Horatio – sword drawn …
When I was poorly as a child, my mother mixed a raw egg-yellow with a little red wine and a dash of sugar for an instant energy lift.
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My mother liked the metre and the rhymes. If she did want to imbue me with ‘the warrior spirit’ she failed! It sounds as though you had the better deal, Ashen.
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Maybe. Not sure. I was nourished, though I think I became a bit of a warrior because my mother was way too accepting of authority and the social status quo.
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Wow, the red wine and sugar sound good, but raw egg? I’m allergic so would have been more sick. My mother’s remedy was hot lemonade. It was wonderful. I read about ancient Rome in my pre-teens. Even kept a scrapbook of buildings and snippets of history.
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We are losing the last of those generations whose cultural life embraced images and literature, often committed in large quantity to memory, that they brought to their personal lives. I am thinking of several dear friends who would in sharp response to many situations, spring images from a rich reservoir of poetry, plays, histories, music and philosophy. This grew from family and especially from a style of education that valued voice and imagination. I was often amazed and envious. Progressively the child’s world has become saturated with images and sounds so powerful that there is no scope for such beautiful reflection. The richness of their experience now is truly wonderful but it is gratifying to help conjure for them moments of escape into different, slower ways of appreciating the world. (And please don’t get me started on the eventual demise of Radio 4).
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When our kids were poorly, my husband would read them Bob Wilson’s Stanley Bagshaw books, enriched by his legendary northern accent. They still love Stanley and appreciate the contribution he made to their cultural life and heritage. Not sure that Macaulay’s ‘Lays of Ancient Rome’ would have made much of an impression on my plebeian children.
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