I’m a grey squirrel,
loveable in my autumn frenzy,
gathering sustenance for the coming season.
You are content to observe me
scampering in gardens and parks,
flying from branch to branch,
leaping from path to bench,
bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
You laugh as a scurry
of clouds devours the sky,
grey squirrels nibbling the azure
until it disappears, and you’re unsure
when the shift from summer
to autumn occurred.
Kim M. Russell, 31st August 2019
This weekend, we are exploring the concept of the unreliable narrator in poetry with Björn. He says it was first defined in 1961 as a story told by someone whose credibility is seriously compromised. Björn says that many of his favourite books use this type of storytelling and mine do too. I think the first novel I read like that was Wuthering Heights, in which there are several narrators, unreliable in their own ways.
I’ve tried to think of unreliable narrators in poetry and only Edgar Allen Poe’s poems came to mind, although I’m sure I’ve come across others, which is why I find today’s prompt both challenging and exciting. Björn asks us to tell stories that are not ours, to exaggerate and lie while thinking about how to expose ourselves as unreliable narrators.