.png)
Jonathan Humble
back
next
the poet
The poetry of Jonathan Humble, a retired deputy head teacher who lives in Cumbria, has appeared in numerous print and online magazines and anthologies. He's published a short collection of his work – Fledge – and is editor of the much-praised, much-admired children's poetry website, The Dirigible Balloon. As well as delivering poetry workshops in schools for Wordsworth Grasmere, Jonathan was Poet in a Fridge for Radio Cumbria's Poetry Takeaway during the BBC's Contains Strong Language Festival in 2020.
the poems
Derek’s Theory
of Quantum Stiles
Einstein phoned the other day.
Wanted to speak quite urgently
with my dog, Derek:
said that Derek’s theory of quantum stiles
was interesting but lacked empirical evidence
and wasn’t supported by the mathematics.
Derek disagreed:
described the process of walking with me,
taking the early morning river route
along the side of the Kent under Cumbrian skies.
Every gate and stile a quantum barrier,
separating countless possibilities
of constantly branching parallel universes:
facts on the far side of each wall blurred,
until the stile is crossed
with a new reality created through observation
… and sometimes, rewarded with a biscuit.
Red Pencil
I am six years old, my pencil breaks
mid-word in Mrs Foster’s class.
So I turn to my friend Martin,
show him the pencil and whisper,
‘Martin, Martin, my pencil has broke.’
‘Use this,’ he says and passes a substitute,
secretly under our desk.
‘But it’s a red pencil, Martin,’ I say.
He smiles a smile. It is an ‘it’ll all be okay’
sort of smile and so I carry on,
copying lines of words I cannot read,
but which I try my very hardest
to replicate, as neat and true to the original
as I am able, at six, to do.
At the finish, I look down at my page
of writing; my teacher’s lines above,
with mine in red below, and I wonder
about the words I have written.
I am happy with the result of my effort;
especially the esses, which are
smooth and curvy, and flowing and lovely.
They are the best I have ever done.
So, I walk twenty paces to Mrs Foster’s desk,
clutching my paper with pride,
and return ten yards with a slapped leg,
my work in shreds in a basket,
having a brand new perspective on the way of things,
and on the reliability of my friend Martin.
Early Morning
Effrontery
I fear porcelain is not your milieu
and your persistence in performing
eight-legged running man dances
up sheer white bathroom edifices
under the gaze and malevolence
of the attentive cat bastard
flexing its tail on this toilet seat
will prove an effrontery too far.
Darwin’s theory of natural selection
will happen well before adaptation occurs.
Before the hairs on your scopulae
develop greater adhesive powers
and you are able to ascend unharmed,
I suspect you will become terribly broken.
So here I am again, 6:30 in the morning,
offering toilet paper ladders in the bath tub,
before I can shower in peace
and the furry purry assassin,
so beloved in our household,
can be persuaded out of the bathroom
to wander off and find something else
to murder instead.
Publishing credits
Derek’s Theory of Quantum Stiles:Tyger Tyger Magazine
Red Pencil: Atrium
Early Morning Effrontery: Fledge (Maytree Press)
