'Betrayed by the hands' by Phil Kay is Write Out Loud Poem of the Week
The new Write Out Loud Poem of the Week is ‘Betrayed by the hands’ by Phil Kay, as we remember the centenary of the first world war battle of the Somme. The poem is about men making their final preparations before going over the top, and into the line of fire. Its final line is just two words: “Whistle blows.” On his profile Phil, aged 56, describes himself as an “unrepentant punk rocker”. A former seafarer, he now lives in Cottingham, Hull. Write Out Loud sent Phil our usual quick Q&A. Here is his poignant and inspirational reply.
“I love books... and as a young punk I got into JCC [John Cooper Clarke] and Linton Kwesi.. Very political. Up until then poetry was something they inflicted on me at school. I also lived in Japan and New Zealand and learnt about haiku and saw a great Kiwi poet, Sam Hunt, and his mate Gary McCormick ... fantastic.
My son, who I lost last year to bone cancer, inspired me to write. As we sat on the teen oncology ward I would try to write down what was happening from an emotional point of view and that’s when I discovered how cathartic it was to write. I learned to understand things by reading my flow of consciousness back to myself. By documenting all the beauty we also experienced during the filth I kept a semblance of sanity. He was the one who said: "That’s good, dad". https://www.facebook.com/Kia.Kaha.David was it really ... still is.
So I’ve written with intent for about a couple of years. My writing is for me. It’s commentary and also very personal one way or another. But I discovered it’s nice when people praise your work. It very very much helps me heal and cope subjectively.
I have this year started doing a few open mic nights …. but I get so nervous me knees knock so much, the words vibrate. But I have had great support from people in Hull, especially at Away With Words at Union Mashup put on by the unstoppable Jim Higo. Fluffy Rob Eunson helps me with positivity. Loads of local poets. And the wee Goth Genevieve L Walsh.
Laura Taylor and David Moore (Wolfgar) inspire me on here, and generally. I wish I could read everything on here though. And sometimes I do try. Laura reading ‘Dear Margaret’ sent shivers up my spine. I wish I could....
I don't have a favourite poem, just a lot I like ... I could read Joe Strummer and Tom Waits lyrics all day, if that counts?
I would have to have music and books on a desert island so some sort of electronic device with solar panels and a large memory. And a picture of my son.
Betrayed by the hands.
by Phil Kay
Check the bolt
For action
Hands slip and slide
Mud and sweat
Sweat and mud
“Alright mate”
“Aye”
“Alright mate”
“Aye”
“We’ll be alright”
“Aye”
Said a thousand times
a thousand times
“Alright mate”
“Aye”
Check the bayonet
Check the bolt
Fucking hands
Shake
And sweat
Fucking hands
Shake
“Alright mate”
Fuck fuck fuck fuck
“Alright mate”
Pissed me kecks.
Its ok
Haha couldn’t
get to the bog
We’re stood in
One
Joke.
Check the bayonet
Fucking hands fucking hands
“Alright mate”
“Alright mate”
Fuck em it’ll be alright
“Did you see the first wave”
“No”
We’ll be alright
I love these men
Can’t say it
“Alright mate”
“Aye”
Whistle blows.
Various
Sat 9th Jul 2016 17:50
Dear Beth thank you for your comments... war is and always has been and always will be an ugly business. Before action things become tunnel vision, routines are a distraction, words lose meaning, so little is said other then reassurance, small jokes, and above all nothing to betray fear... which is why the hands are the betrayal. This is still how it is dealt with now.
LCPT its amazing isn't it, you are so right that common place is reached for in these circumstances, reassurance to banish fear... but mainly to be able to believe your not alone.
Thank you.