Last night we went to the Bishop of Ely's house - 'we' being me and Adèle and Sophie and Dan. It was a sort of cultural gathering, at which music was to be played and both Adèle and Soph were to read a few of their poems. A lovely event it turned out to be: the company was good (it included our friends Wendy and Lachlan), the food was tasty and abundant, the music was fine, and my wife and daughter both shone. Take it from me, they did, even though I am the proud husband and father who is saying so. I have posted poems by Sophie Hannah here many a time and oft, and indeed one of these ('Wells-Next-the-Sea') she read last night. But have I ever posted one of Adèle's? I'm not sure. Here, in any case, is a poem she read at the Bishop of Ely's place, posted with her permission.
Adam talks to the press
He made a garden. Laid it out for me.
And then he filched my rib. Fixed me a mate.
For years, we mooched about and that was great.
We found the Snake was quite good company.
After a bite of that sweet apple-fruit,
I knew some things I never used to know:
how much we needed clothes. How parts that show
are better covered. Next stop: fig-leaf suit.
But when the Maker saw us, he went spare
and chucked us out and forced the Snake to crawl,
but I think this: He knew that we would fall.
That Tree of Knowledge needn't have been there.
He could have planted anything instead:
roses, carnations, a magnolia tree,
but no, He needed her and also me
to crunch the apple and jump into bed.
A flaming sword stood in the Angel's hand
as we left Paradise. So OTT.
Eve started crying, natch, but as for me,
I was resigned. The whole thing had been planned.
Now, looking back, how glorious it seems!
The blossoming, the flowers and all the green,
the fountains and the shade. We could have been
contented there forever. In your dreams!
I've said it before and I'll say it again: poets, hooray.
