Author’s Note: This poem, originally published by Voidspace, is written in a Northern English dialect.
She were left fer dead, and me Da’ found me snotty ov’ her corpse, like. We found some poems on flowery paper in ‘er ‘ouse few days after. She were all cold, like; stiff as a bloody board. Had a reet good selection she did, all classics and that. Mad Mary used to stick tobacco in her butty and eat it for er’ tea. Aye, she was nowt to be messed with, I’ll tell ya. Din’t have a lot a brass, you see. She were always down pub askin’ for lend some. I still ‘ere ‘er voice now; like a flippin’ angel she wer’. Ar’ Tony saw her up ont’ moors t’other day, messin’ about with some kids. Tony dropped a ciggy down cracks of rock, but she stopped the wazzock meetin’ the big man upstairs. Ya know, I never would’a thought you can forget how somebody sounds. I knew ‘er voice yesterday, same for the day before, but now, it’s just a blur, like. Poets’ speak same language as the dead, but I’m no poet. Thas don’t have no words for it. She were good at all’at. It’s a cryin’ shame she went up wit’ smoke. I never got to tell ‘er how I felt.
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I like the mystery of whatever went down with Mary and Tony on the moor.
Tricky to write “northern” as there are so many dialects. I think I’m over-Sheffielding it, kept stumbling on the “with” that would be shorter – “wi’ some kids”.
I very much enjoyed the use of the Northern dialect here. It lends the piece a distinctive character and gives it a personality entirely its own.