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  • Fond Farewell

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    Clive Reedman
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    The poem is a first person perspective of someone standing at Bartholomew Bone's grave. In three sentences, it describes how the gravestone describes Bartholomew as an "also ran", no one grieves or remembers him since he has been dead, and the narrator questions why they feel drawn to visit the grave if Bartholomew's life was seen as having done nothing of significance, until the dramatic reveal that the narrator and Bartholomew are in fact the same person.

    Original Description:

    Goodbye Bartholomew Bone

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    The poem is a first person perspective of someone standing at Bartholomew Bone's grave. In three sentences, it describes how the gravestone describes Bartholomew as an "also ran", no one grieves or remembers him since he has been dead, and the narrator questions why they feel drawn to visit the grave if Bartholomew's life was seen as having done nothing of significance, until the dramatic reveal that the narrator and Bartholomew are in fact the same person.

    Copyright:

    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Flag for inappropriate content
    Download as pdf or txt
    10 views1 page

    Fond Farewell

    Uploaded by

    Clive Reedman
    The poem is a first person perspective of someone standing at Bartholomew Bone's grave. In three sentences, it describes how the gravestone describes Bartholomew as an "also ran", no one grieves or remembers him since he has been dead, and the narrator questions why they feel drawn to visit the grave if Bartholomew's life was seen as having done nothing of significance, until the dramatic reveal that the narrator and Bartholomew are in fact the same person.

    Copyright:

    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Flag for inappropriate content
    Download as pdf or txt
    of 1

    Fond Farewell

    By his grave I stand alone,


    To say farewell Bartholomew Bone.
    Words on the stone describe the man
    HEREIN LIES AN ALSO RAN.

    No second life will Barty know,


    And around this stone only weeds now grow.
    No grieving will make damp the eye,
    And even the ghosts just pass him by.

    With no living memory, fond and dear,


    What is there now to draw me here?
    His life is cast as ‘nothing done’
    During sixty years of distance run.

    But surely then, it’s lies I tell?


    In truth, surely a fond farewell?
    If Barty was not due lament,
    Why to his plot am I so bent?

    Read on
    This tome
    This history
    This Bartholomew Bone
    Is ME!

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