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Amanuensis (for Christopher Nolan)

Just the dolorous scrimmage of morning,
rummaging soft folds of gown
to find a simple pen

That which we take for granted,
the easy unravellings of
a contorted tongue

May come to us swift after the
squabbles of inner mind
fall to rest

Yet he: a Bard at fourteen years
locked in the maiden of chair
and iron clad birth

Writes nonetheless in depths
untouched by most, since
Hopkins strode the ground

of his earthbound head
What is metempsychosis for some
reincarnation for others,

could be osmosis of the kingly kind
Absorbed through skin and pore
innate in skill

entrapped in skull
Of life, he captured still through
windows watery light, whispering of

worlds imagined, echoes poured
Through doors, of voices
rattling around his kitchen floor

then pooled into perfection-
Portraits of those he heard conversed
the voices unseen in this mirrored earth,

intently listened, in innards of ear
(Outside the echo chamber of life)
there, dreamed a language into being
from the tether of radio and television

from lettered wall, that drew his eye
No more a miracle of his own making
no less the encased genius of his generation

locked in his labyrinth world of words,
a page of his own making in mind
Words stand as leaning stones considered,

acute in an art where words defy,
a universe, complete authentic,
all under the watch of his unique eye.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words: 
Christopher Nolan was the remarkable precocious young writer, who overcame incredible disability to write some great dense, rich poems and prose, full of allusions to classical myth, and with incredible word use and precision - worthy of a youthful Dylan or Joyce, no-one can know what he could have achieved under different circumstances, all this in his head before the age of 14! All before his mother noticed that he was composing this stuff in his head, indeed he had composed a number of early works in his head and memorised them, which appeared in "Dam-burst of dreams" - he also wrote the Whitehead prize winning "Under the eye of the clock" - died in 2009, aged just 43. His parents and Doctors managed to control his condition to a certain point, and with the aid of a stick attached to his forehead and a wonky od word processor (the community all chipped in and got him a specialised computer). If you've never encountered this remarkable writer before, I encourage you to read him, see: and for reference to the content of this piece. Thanks for your patience on this one, Chris.
Editing stage: 


Thanks for the info on the subject! Great read, has the cacophony of Thomas, tells a story impeccably.
My only comment, I'm not crazy about the last line ..In a poem of such depth, comes of a little cute to me. Consider just dropping it, in my opinion.

Man you're on a roll, your language skills are extraordinary. Ride the wave!!

I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

as suggested - I wasn't really happy with it, and didn't know where or how to tie this one up, but now the ending is hopefully more acute than cute!

Will be doing a lot of re-reading and revision on this one.



Chris Hall - Tasmania

Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of Prince's stores and bumped them up on the brewery float. On the brewery float bumped dullthudding barrels rolled by grossbooted draymen out of Prince's stores.

author comment

Creativity I have fathomed from reading comes from the right temporal lobe
but we know about as much of the brain as we do ourselves
the results...such as this man finding the bridge to transport his works
into the language of universal a miracle
and shows his strength as a poet to be driven to get the works out
and his supportive crew and village

Thank U Chris! you have continously shared much of the creative
works in cinema and history of your land and its artists

Mr Wolf!

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