Half Agony, Half Hope

This poem has gone through several different titles, but I have decided to call it Longing for Outside as I think it captures the essence of the poem of longing to go outside. I am still deciding whether or not to use this title for the sequence I have made with this poem, Novel, and Blanket, and instead call this poem a different title within that sequence.

1st Draft

2nd Draft

In the second draft I was experimenting with different lines and trying to work out how the stanzas would fit together.

3rd Draft

Looking from the Outside/Locked/Untitled – 3rd Draft – 12/11/20

My well-thumbed novel lays open,

Abandoned on the crocheted blanket.

The mug of tea that warmed my hands is stewed. 

I freeze them to chilblains on ice-cube glass instead.

Wipe a gap on the frosty pane,

And stare, longing, for outside. 

Outside is clean white snow; crisp, crunching leaves;

Bright lemon daisies; emerald green. 

Tatty raincoat, matching shoes,

Clear umbrella with the flowers on. 

I run,

Past the trap of warm comfort:

The waft of pease pudding from the oven,

The glow of the wood-burning stove, 

The warm milk mug passed across my chest,

The soft-yak jumper pulled over my head,

The tinkling Mozart keys drawing back my ears. 

No! I have to go. I have to live. 

I want to. 

I pull my scarf tighter and tighter, 

Stuck on the hook of the door,

Zip up my new white coat – the ropes,

Block out the siren-sounds with its fluffy hood – the wax,

Jump on my boat-shoes and row like Zephyr. 

I want the Lewis forests and Tolkien hills,

I want to go to Troy, if it takes me twenty years to get home. 

When working on the third draft, I pretty much re-wrote the poem from scratch, giving myself complete freedom of form and stanzas and just writing it how it came naturally. I think this was effective as the later list of temptations is emphasised by the fact that it is one larger list, and thus enacts the difficulty of fighting against those temptations and trying to get out. However, I’m not sure whether the couplets at the beginning work in that form or not. Going into the fourth stanza I focussed on getting rid of clichés, clunky and unnecessary lines, phrases and words, and certain lines that didn’t really reflect my voice.

Looking from the Outside/Locked/Untitled – 4th Draft – 24/11/20

My novel lays abandoned 

on a crocheted blanket.

The mug of tea that warmed my hands is stewed;

I freeze them to chilblains on ice-cube glass instead,

Wipe a gap on the frosty pane,

And stare, longing, for outside. 

Outside is clean white snow, 

crisp, crunching leaves;

 A tatty raincoat and a

Clear umbrella with flowers on. 

I run,

Past the waft of pease pudding from the oven,

The mug of warm milk with its tiny trail of steam,

The soft-yak jumper pulled over my head,

The tinkling Mozart keys drawing back my ears,

Like a dog, that hears the jingle of the lead, and yearns 

No! I have to go. I have to live. 

I want to. 

I pull my scarf tighter and tighter, 

Stuck on the hook of the door,

Tie myself to outside – the ropes,

Block out the calling sirens with headphones – the wax,

Jump on my boat-shoes and row. 

I want the Lewis forests and the Tolkien hills,

I want to go to Troy, if it takes me twenty years to get home. 

For the next draft I decided to change the couplets at the beginning, get rid of/adapt more clichéd lines. I think this poem is nearly done, the only final edits I want to make are making a couple of bits more concise and I am undecided about the ‘rope’ and ‘wax’ lines and which versions of these lines I should choose.

5th Draft

My novel lays abandoned 

On the blanket I just made. 

The mug of tea that warmed my hands is stewed.

Instead, I freeze my fingers to chilblains

On ice-cube glass,

Wipe a gap on the frosty pane,

And stare, longing for outside. 

Outside is clean white snow,  

Leaves that crackle beneath boots.

I run,

Past the waft of pease pudding from the oven,

The warm milk with its tiny trail of steam,

The soft-yak jumper pulled over my head,

The tinkling keys that draw back my ears,

Like a dog, 

That hears the jingle of the lead, 

And yearns 

No! I have to go. I have to live. 

I want to. 

I pull my scarf tighter and tighter, 

Stuck on the hook of the door,

Tie myself to outside – the ropes,

Block out the calling sirens with headphones – the wax,

Zip up my new white coat – the ropes,

Block out the siren-sounds with its fluffy hood – the wax,

Jump on my boat-shoes and row. 

I want the Lewis forests and the Tolkien hills,

I want to go to Troy, if it takes me twenty years to get home. 

*underlined lines are where I plan to choose between different options for the same lines

Final draft

Longing for Outside

My novel lays abandoned 

On the blanket I just made. 

The mug of tea that warmed my hands is stewed.

Instead, I freeze my fingers to chilblains

On ice-cube glass,

Wipe a gap on the frosty pane,

And stare, longing for outside. 

Outside is clean white snow,  

Leaves that crackle beneath boots.

I run

Past the waft of pease pudding,

The warm milk with its tiny trail of steam,

The soft-yak jumper pulled over my head,

The tinkling keys that draw back my ears,

Like a dog, 

That hears the jingle of the lead, 

And yearns 

No! I have to go. I want to.     

I pull my scarf tighter and tighter, 

Stuck on the hook of the door,

Zip up my new white coat – the ropes,

Block out the calling sirens with gloved fingers – the wax,

Jump on my boat-shoes and row. 

I want the Lewis forests and the Tolkien hills,

I want to go to Troy, if it takes me twenty years to get home. 

• There are only small changes between the 5th draft and the final draft of this poem, it was more just refining it and removing a couple of lines and words that I felt were unnecessary. The poem has elements of inspiration from the summer lockdown and isolation, alongside the internal dilemma of choosing to go outside fo your comfort zone. It also alludes to the Odyssey (the ropes and the wax allude to when Odysseus asks his men to tie him down as they pass the sirens and the wax he puts in their ears so they don’t hear it and go overboard), Narnia, and The Lord of the Rings, which are some of my favourite texts about adventures, but which also all have strong senses of loyalty to home and wanting to return home, and so fit nicely with the theme of the poem.