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Material by Ros Barber

Original Poetry

Translation

Material by Ros Barber

My mother was a queen of handkerchiefs

when a handkerchief was made of cloth,

My mother was a hanky queen

not paper tissues bought in packs

when hanky meant a thing of cloth,

from late-night garages and shops,

not paper tissues bought in packs

but things for waving out of trains

from late-night garages and shops,

and wiping away tears:

but things for waving out of trains

when handkerchiefs were made of fabric

and mopping the corners of your grief:

she always had one up her sleeve.

when hankies were material

she’d have one, always, up her sleeve.

Tucked in the wrists of every cardigan,

a mother's awkward lace

Tucked in the wrists of every cardi,

embroidered with a V for Viv,

a mum’s embarrassment of lace

spit-cleaned and scrubbed against my face.

embroidered with a V for Viv,

And sometimes more than one would fall out

spittled and scrubbed against my face.

as if she had a farm up there

And sometimes more than one fell out

where old handkerchiefs fell in love

as if she had a farm up there

and produced little squares.

where dried-up hankies fell in love

and mated, raising little squares.

She bought her own; I never did.

Handkerchiefs were gifts from distant aunts

She bought her own; I never did.

in boxed sets, with clear covers

Hankies were presents from distant aunts

and script initials spelling out 'fancy',

in boxed sets, with transparent covers

the tackiest Christmas gift you’d get –

and script initials spelling ponce,

my brothers too, more often than not,

the naffest Christmas gift you’d get –

got male ones: serious, and grey,

my brothers too, more often than not,

and larger, like they had more mucus.

got male ones: serious, and grey,

and larger, like they had more snot.

It was handkerchiefs that closed department stores,

with headscarves, girdles, knitting wool

It was hankie that closed department stores,

and trouser presses; homely items

with headscarves, girdles, knitting wool

you’d never find today in malls.

and trouser presses; homely props

Handkerchiefs, which needed ironing,

you’d never find today in malls.

and boiling to be cleaned

Hankies, which demanded irons,

closed the doors of family stores

and boiling to be purified

when those who used to buy them died.

shuttered the doors of family stores

when those who used to buy them died.

And somehow, with the loss of handkerchiefs,

greengrocer George with his bad foot

And somehow, with the hanky’s loss,

delivering vegetables from a Comma van

greengrocer George with his dodgy foot

is history, and the friendly butcher

delivering veg from a Comma van

who’d slip an extra sausage in,

is history, and the friendly butcher

the fishmonger whose marble counter

who’d slip and extra sausage in,

of haddock smoked the color of yolks

the fishmonger whose marble slab

and packaged rows of local crab

of haddock smoked the colour of yolks

and parcelled rows of local crab

lay opposite the dancing school

where Mrs. White, with painted nails,

lay opposite the dancing school

taught us 'When You’re Smiling' from a stumbling, out of tune piano:

where Mrs White, with painted talons,

step-together, step-together,

taught us When You’re Smiling from a stumbling, out of tune piano:

step-together, point! The Annual Talent Show

step-together, step-together,

when every mother, holding back tears,

step-together, point! The Annual Talent Show

would pull a handkerchief from their sleeve

when every mother, fencing tears,

and wipe the makeup from little ones.

would whip a hanky from their sleeve

and smudge the rouge from little dears.

Nostalgia only makes me feel old.

The innocence I want my children

Nostalgia only makes me old.

to hold onto like ten-bob notes

The innocence I want my brood

was killed by TV’s laziness.

to cling on to like ten-bob notes

And it was me that turned it on and ate store-bought biscuits I would bake

was killed in TV’s lassitude.

if I’d commit to being home.

And it was me that turned it onand eat bought biscuits I would bake

if I’d commit to being home.

There’s never a handkerchief up my sleeve.

I raised neglected-looking kids,

There’s never a hanky up my sleeve.

the kind whose noses strangers clean.

I raised neglected-looking kids,

What awkwardness in me stops

the kind whose noses strangers clean.

me from keeping tissues in my bag when handy packs are 50p?

What awkwardness in me forbids

I miss fabric handkerchiefs,

me to keep tissues in my bag when handy packs are 50p?

their soft and hidden history.

I miss material handkerchiefs,

their soft and hidden history.

But it isn’t mine. I’ll let it go.

My mother too, eventually,

But it isn’t mine. I’ll let it go.

who died not leaving handkerchiefs

My mother too, eventually,

but tissues and uncertainty:

who died not leaving handkerchiefs

and she would say, should I complain

but tissues and uncertainty:

of the scratchy and disposable,

and she would say, should I complain

that this is your material

of the scratchy and disposable,

to do with, daughter, what you will.

that this is your material

to do with, daughter, what you will.

Explanation

Ros Barber's poem 'Material' explores the theme of nostalgia and the generational shift from a time of tangible, intimate connections to a modern, disposable culture. The poem reflects on the poet's mother, who cherished cloth handkerchiefs, a symbol of a bygone era of personal and domestic care. These handkerchiefs, embroidered and lovingly maintained, contrast sharply with today's paper tissues, representing a loss of tradition and personal touch. The poem uses vivid imagery to evoke the past, such as the mother's handkerchiefs tucked in her sleeve, the bustling family stores, and the community figures like the greengrocer and butcher. The poet laments the loss of these connections and the innocence of childhood, which has been replaced by the convenience and detachment of modern life. The poem also touches on the poet's own feelings of inadequacy as a parent, unable to replicate the warmth and care of her mother's generation. The final lines reflect a resignation to this change, acknowledging that the past cannot be reclaimed, and the poet must create her own 'material' from the present.

Word Dictionary15

Word	Easy Meaning	Translation	Pron.
hanky	handkerchief	a small piece of cloth used for wiping the face or hands	hank-ee
cardi	cardigan	a type of knitted sweater with buttons	kar-dee
ponce	fancy	something overly fancy or pretentious	pons
naffest	tackiest	the most unfashionable or lacking in style	naf-est
lassitude	laziness	a state of physical or mental weariness	las-i-tood
brood	children	a group of young offspring	brood
talons	nails	sharp, pointed nails	tal-ons
smudge	smear	to make a dirty mark or streak	smuhj
brood	children	a group of young offspring	brood
yolks	egg centers	the yellow part of an egg	yolks
dodgy	unreliable	potentially unsafe or unreliable	dod-jee
fencing	holding back	to prevent or restrain	fen-sing
ten-bob notes	old currency	a former British currency note worth ten shillings	ten-bob nohts
brood	children	a group of young offspring	brood
material	substance	the substance or fabric from which something is made	muh-teer-ee-uhl

Poet & Context

PoetRos Barber

EraContemporary

Rosalind Barber, born in 1964, is an English novelist, poet, and academic. She is known for her poetry collection 'Material' and the novel 'The Marlowe Papers'.

View on Wikipedia

WhenPublished in 2008

WhyThe poem 'Material' by Ros Barber reflects on generational loss, nostalgia, and the changing nature of domestic life. It contrasts the past's tangible, intimate connections with the present's disposable culture.

FormFree verse

Themes & More

Themes

NostalgiaGenerational changeLossDomestic life

Literary devices

Imagery: Vivid descriptions of handkerchiefs and community life evoke a sense of nostalgia.Metaphor: Handkerchiefs symbolize the past and personal connections.Personification: Handkerchiefs 'fell in love and mated', giving them human-like qualities.Contrast: The poem contrasts the past's tangible connections with the present's disposability.

شاعری کا تجزیہ

Material by Ros Barber

Original Poetry

Translation

Material by Ros Barber

My mother was a queen of handkerchiefs

when a handkerchief was made of cloth,

My mother was a hanky queen

not paper tissues bought in packs

when hanky meant a thing of cloth,

from late-night garages and shops,

not paper tissues bought in packs

but things for waving out of trains

from late-night garages and shops,

and wiping away tears:

but things for waving out of trains

when handkerchiefs were made of fabric

and mopping the corners of your grief:

she always had one up her sleeve.

when hankies were material

she’d have one, always, up her sleeve.

Tucked in the wrists of every cardigan,

a mother's awkward lace

Tucked in the wrists of every cardi,

embroidered with a V for Viv,

a mum’s embarrassment of lace

spit-cleaned and scrubbed against my face.

embroidered with a V for Viv,

And sometimes more than one would fall out

spittled and scrubbed against my face.

as if she had a farm up there

And sometimes more than one fell out

where old handkerchiefs fell in love

as if she had a farm up there

and produced little squares.

where dried-up hankies fell in love

and mated, raising little squares.

She bought her own; I never did.

Handkerchiefs were gifts from distant aunts

She bought her own; I never did.

in boxed sets, with clear covers

Hankies were presents from distant aunts

and script initials spelling out 'fancy',

in boxed sets, with transparent covers

the tackiest Christmas gift you’d get –

and script initials spelling ponce,

my brothers too, more often than not,

the naffest Christmas gift you’d get –

got male ones: serious, and grey,

my brothers too, more often than not,

and larger, like they had more mucus.

got male ones: serious, and grey,

and larger, like they had more snot.

It was handkerchiefs that closed department stores,

with headscarves, girdles, knitting wool

It was hankie that closed department stores,

and trouser presses; homely items

with headscarves, girdles, knitting wool

you’d never find today in malls.

and trouser presses; homely props

Handkerchiefs, which needed ironing,

you’d never find today in malls.

and boiling to be cleaned

Hankies, which demanded irons,

closed the doors of family stores

and boiling to be purified

when those who used to buy them died.

shuttered the doors of family stores

when those who used to buy them died.

And somehow, with the loss of handkerchiefs,

greengrocer George with his bad foot

And somehow, with the hanky’s loss,

delivering vegetables from a Comma van

greengrocer George with his dodgy foot

is history, and the friendly butcher

delivering veg from a Comma van

who’d slip an extra sausage in,

is history, and the friendly butcher

the fishmonger whose marble counter

who’d slip and extra sausage in,

of haddock smoked the color of yolks

the fishmonger whose marble slab

and packaged rows of local crab

of haddock smoked the colour of yolks

and parcelled rows of local crab

lay opposite the dancing school

where Mrs. White, with painted nails,

lay opposite the dancing school

taught us 'When You’re Smiling' from a stumbling, out of tune piano:

where Mrs White, with painted talons,

step-together, step-together,

taught us When You’re Smiling from a stumbling, out of tune piano:

step-together, point! The Annual Talent Show

step-together, step-together,

when every mother, holding back tears,

step-together, point! The Annual Talent Show

would pull a handkerchief from their sleeve

when every mother, fencing tears,

and wipe the makeup from little ones.

would whip a hanky from their sleeve

and smudge the rouge from little dears.

Nostalgia only makes me feel old.

The innocence I want my children

Nostalgia only makes me old.

to hold onto like ten-bob notes

The innocence I want my brood

was killed by TV’s laziness.

to cling on to like ten-bob notes

And it was me that turned it on and ate store-bought biscuits I would bake

was killed in TV’s lassitude.

if I’d commit to being home.

And it was me that turned it onand eat bought biscuits I would bake

if I’d commit to being home.

There’s never a handkerchief up my sleeve.

I raised neglected-looking kids,

There’s never a hanky up my sleeve.

the kind whose noses strangers clean.

I raised neglected-looking kids,

What awkwardness in me stops

the kind whose noses strangers clean.

me from keeping tissues in my bag when handy packs are 50p?

What awkwardness in me forbids

I miss fabric handkerchiefs,

me to keep tissues in my bag when handy packs are 50p?

their soft and hidden history.

I miss material handkerchiefs,

their soft and hidden history.

But it isn’t mine. I’ll let it go.

My mother too, eventually,

But it isn’t mine. I’ll let it go.

who died not leaving handkerchiefs

My mother too, eventually,

but tissues and uncertainty:

who died not leaving handkerchiefs

and she would say, should I complain

but tissues and uncertainty:

of the scratchy and disposable,

and she would say, should I complain

that this is your material

of the scratchy and disposable,

to do with, daughter, what you will.

that this is your material

to do with, daughter, what you will.

Explanation

Word Dictionary15

Word	Easy Meaning	Translation	Pron.
hanky	handkerchief	a small piece of cloth used for wiping the face or hands	hank-ee
cardi	cardigan	a type of knitted sweater with buttons	kar-dee
ponce	fancy	something overly fancy or pretentious	pons
naffest	tackiest	the most unfashionable or lacking in style	naf-est
lassitude	laziness	a state of physical or mental weariness	las-i-tood
brood	children	a group of young offspring	brood
talons	nails	sharp, pointed nails	tal-ons
smudge	smear	to make a dirty mark or streak	smuhj
brood	children	a group of young offspring	brood
yolks	egg centers	the yellow part of an egg	yolks
dodgy	unreliable	potentially unsafe or unreliable	dod-jee
fencing	holding back	to prevent or restrain	fen-sing
ten-bob notes	old currency	a former British currency note worth ten shillings	ten-bob nohts
brood	children	a group of young offspring	brood
material	substance	the substance or fabric from which something is made	muh-teer-ee-uhl

Poet & Context

PoetRos Barber

EraContemporary

Rosalind Barber, born in 1964, is an English novelist, poet, and academic. She is known for her poetry collection 'Material' and the novel 'The Marlowe Papers'.

View on Wikipedia

WhenPublished in 2008

FormFree verse

Themes & More

Themes

NostalgiaGenerational changeLossDomestic life

Literary devices