Trying to find a copy of The Seduction by Eileen McAuley. Can anyone help?

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[www.teachit.co.uk]

The Seduction
--Eileen McAuley


After the party, early Sunday morning,
He led her to the quiet bricks of the Birkenhead docks.
Far past the silver stream of the traffic through the city,
Far from the blind windows of the tower blocks.

He sat in the darkness, leather jacket creaking madly,
He spat in the river, fumbled in a bag.
He handed her the vodka, and she knocked it back like water,
She giggled, drunk and nervous, and he muttered ‘little slag’.

She had met him at the party, and he’d danced with her all night,
He’d told her about football; Sammy Lee and Ian Rush,
She had nodded, quite enchanted, and her eyes were wide and bright
As he enthused about the Milk Cup, and the next McGuigan fight.

As he brought her more drinks, so she fell in love
With his eyes as blue as iodine,
With the fingers that stroked her neck and thighs
And the kisses that tasted of nicotine.

Then: ‘I’ll take you to the river where I spend my afternoons,
When I should be t school, or eating me dinner.
Where I go, by meself, with me dad’s magazines
And a bag filled with shimmering, sweet paint thinner.’

So she followed him there, all high white shoes,
All wide blue eyes, and bottles of vodka.
And sat in the dark, her head rolling forward
Towards the frightening scum on the water.

And talked about school, in a disjointed way:
About O Levels she’d be sitting in June
She chattered on, and stared at the water,
The Mersey, green as a septic wound.

Then, when he swiftly contrived to kiss her
His kiss was scented by Listerine
And she stifled a giggle, reminded of numerous
Stories from teenage magazines…..

When she discovered she was three months gone
She sobbed in the cool, locked darkness of her room
And she ripped up all he My Guy and her Jackie photo-comics
Until they were just bright paper, like confetti, strewn

On the carpet. And on that day, she broke her heels
Of her high white shoes (as she flung them at the wall).
And realised, for once, that she was truly truly frightened
But more than that, cheated by the promise of it all.

For where, now, was he summer of her sixteenth year?
Full of glitzy fashion features, and stories of romance?
Where a stranger could lead you to bright worlds,
And how would you know, if you never took a chance?

Full of glossy horoscopes, and glamour with a stammer;
Full of fresh fruit diets – how did she feel betrayed?
Now, with a softly rounded belly, she was sickened every morning
By stupid stupid promises only tacitly made.

Where were the glossy photographs of summer,
Day trips to Blackpool, jumping all the rides?
And where, now, were the pink smiling faces in the picture:
Three girls paddling in the grey and frothy tide?

So she cried that he had missed all the innocence around her
And all the parties where you meet the boy next door,
Where you walk hand in hand, in an acne’d wonderland,
With a glass of lager-shandy, on a carpeted floor.

But, then again, better to be smoking scented drugs
Or festering, invisibly unemployed.
Better to destroy your life in modern man-made ways
Than to fall into this despicable, feminine void.

Better to starve yourself, like a sick precocious child
Than to walk through town with a belly huge and ripe.
And better, now, to turn away, move away, fade away,
Than to have the neighbours whisper that ‘you always looked the type’.


Les



Post Edited (03-14-05 12:56)

We are doing about 'the seduction' at school, and comparing it with another poem by Christina Rossetti called 'Cousin Kate'. We have to do a peice of couesework on the pieces, and compare and contrast them. Jolly good fun

It's be even more fun to compare it with Hardy's Ruined Maid:


"O 'Melia, my dear, this does everything crown!
Who could have supposed I should meet you in Town?
And whence such fair garments, such prosperi-ty?"
"O didn't you know I'd been ruined?" said she.

"You left us in tatters, without shoes or socks,
Tired of digging potatoes, and spudding up docks;
And now you've gay bracelets and bright feathers three!"
"Yes: that's how we dress when we're ruined," said she.

-"At home in the barton you said 'thee' and 'thou,'
And 'thik oon,' and 'theäs oon,' and 't'other'; but now
Your talking quite fits 'ee for high compa-ny!"
"Some polish is gained with one's ruin," said she.

"Your hands were like paws then, your face blue and bleak
But now I'm bewitched by your delicate cheek,
And your little gloves fit as on any la-dy!"
"We never do work when we're ruined," said she.

"You used to call home-life a hag-ridden dream,
And you'd sigh, and you'd sock; but at present you seem
To know not of megrims or melancho-ly!"
"True. One's pretty lively when ruined," said she.

"I wish I had feathers, a fine sweeping gown,
And a delicate face, and could strut about Town!"
"My dear a raw country girl, such as you be,
Cannot quite expect that. You ain't ruined," said she.

>We are doing about 'the seduction' at school, and comparing it with
>another poem by Christina Rossetti called 'Cousin Kate'. We have to
>do a peice of couesework on the pieces, and compare and contrast them.

I wonder why. The McAuley, erm, piece is not particularly well written, I mean. Disjointed rhythm, strange rhymes and hackneyed expressions, not to mention the 'preachy' tone.


Cousin Kate

I was a cottage maiden
Hardened by sun and air
Contented with my cottage mates,
Not mindful I was fair.
Why did a great lord find me out,
And praise my flaxen hair?
Why did a great lord find me out,
To fill my heart with care?

He lured me to his palace home -
Woe's me for joy thereof-
To lead a shameless shameful life,
His plaything and his love.
He wore me like a silken knot,
He changed me like a glove;
So now I moan, an unclean thing,
Who might have been a dove.

O Lady kate, my cousin Kate,
You grew more fair than I:
He saw you at your father's gate,
Chose you, and cast me by.
He watched your steps along the lane,
Your work among the rye;
He lifted you from mean estate
To sit with him on high.

Because you were so good and pure
He bound you with his ring:
The neighbors call you good and pure,
Call me an outcast thing.
Even so I sit and howl in dust,
You sit in gold and sing:
Now which of us has tenderer heart?
You had the stronger wing.

O cousin Kate, my love was true,
Your love was writ in sand:
If he had fooled not me but you,
If you stood where I stand,
He'd not have won me with his love
Nor bought me with his land;
I would have spit into his face
And not have taken his hand.

Yet I've a gift you have not got,
And seem not like to get:
For all your clothes and wedding-ring
I've little doubt you fret.
My fair-haired son, my shame, my pride,
Cling closer, closer yet:
Your father would give his lands for one
To wear his coronet.
--Christina Rossetti

The McAuley piece is "relevent", that seems to be the main criterium for choosing a work now. I bet the Rossetti is only there to provide pre-twentieth centuary content.

The McAuley just reeks of 'Please God, I'm only 17.' In the Rossetti, she's actually making the best of things.

pam

I'm doing the same peice of course work as you then .... just finished it .... 12 pages on font 12 later :(

That Hardy poem reminds me of Mae West's quip: "Good girls go to heaven. Bad girls go everywhere."



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 01/12/2021 01:57PM by IanB.

when was the peom 'the seduction' written? can anyone help me

Don't know, but the references to Sammy Lee, Ian Rush, the Milk Cup and Barry McGuiugan should give you the rough time it is meant to have happened if you Google them.

Liverpool won the Milk Cup in 1984, Lee and Rush were part of the team.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 01/08/2021 04:37PM by Linda.

thank you linda, after studing the poem i discovered the poem was writtn in the 1980s because of the mention on Mcguigan fights

are any of use comparing it to the beggar woman

I have to compare the two poems too.
I just finished explaining the first poem, it's only three pages long.
So I'm hoping the second poem, with there being more stanzas will make it a bit longer.

Does anyone know the exact year it was written though ? I know it was the eighties but the exact year ?

Les, might as well correct three, possibly four, typos in 'The Seduction' as posted above:

S5.L2: t > at
S9.L3: he > the
S11.L1: he > the

and probably:

S14.L1: he > she (unless 'missed' should be 'messed', which I doubt)

A snapshot not only of a physical, Merseyside seduction, but also of a lifetime seduced by false and destructive values (the 'glossy horoscopes' and 'stupid stupid promises'). The disjointed rhythm and hackneyed expressions, which Hugh remarks on, help to evoke lives damaged and out of joint. By the time this misguided, silly girl is mugged by reality, and presented with the prospect of another's life to care for, her moral compass is so warped that it points her only in the direction of self-harm. Lots of vivid images and symbols and overtones of grot and disease and deceptive glamour. Almost too thickly piled on, but well sustained. 'frightening scum on the water' indeed.



Edited 2 time(s). Last edit at 07/02/2022 06:47PM by IanB.