homes & delights |
A WALK TO THE SEA The ship sailing above the town affects me In a strange way; balanced upon roofs It glides, too large, a curiosity On the broad flank of a blue hill of sea Opposite my hill, and me. On the edge of England all perspectives suffer This sea-change. The mapped line dissolves Under the moon's wash; England’s lover Must swear allegiance to many drowned miles Or forfeit a whole isle’s Sea-fingered wealth back to the covetous sea And the undiscovered graves. But chiefly time Can twist its meaning amid the uncertainty Of a half-land where nothing is still, yet seems A thunderous reef of dreams Mounted in air - visible on the wind To visitors trapped there and becoming time As all dawns of the earth and dark-finned Lives of things rise from cell to cell With the ancient sea-smell. People have come, and left part of themselves To the mist and breeze, retracing the buried prints Unthinking of their old sea-selves In a pilgrimage whose human purpose none Can fathom. And I am one, Standing between the country and the sea, Seeking to grasp in my need and love of the place Above all things a sense of history, And why, with the waters calling, I now stand On these last inches of land. .................................................................................................... AGAIN THERE (remembering Blenheim) O yes a cup of trees a bowl of grass outdistancing my running wide arms yes please o again With dew in my toes and a silver spoon overhead .................................................................................................... CERTAIN PARTS OF THE SEA Like my fish I like to run in a bright shoal, Need to feel the frost of salt on my skin From time to time; Behind the sky I want a cradle of wet weed And great spaces. Only me and the moon Is what I like. And in my life, all that I touch and like is mine; And so my house it is, the open wind, And many hands, Rocks, and fields of bright hair, and one bird Are mine. Even the sun, and certain parts Of the sea are mine. What I desire and all I have are my dominion: These with lovers unknown of windy moon And sand I share And fish that run in a shoal to know the sea - the far Away things that I love and want are still Mine, and await me. .................................................................................................... HERE WE ARE Dear house. “Home is here” you said, “if you will wait.” And here we are, a year gone; our own gate, Some flowers, Nine windows, The right number of walls, half a roof To keep our treasure safe whenever the rough Weather blows. Outside, Beyond our bottom fence the wheat moves Like quicksand; a mile away the hooves Of the tide Race From sky to shore; out on the marsh, under A wheeling ceiling of birds, rain and thunder Embrace The flowing Dykes, home of the eels and leaping pike. And here on the land all the things we like Are growing. So may We, so happy to find this kingdom meant For us to people with our love, consent To stay. .................................................................................................... SHORE, MORNING Slim spars, shingle, Sea. Morning mist, seagulls. A sun-ribbon. Me. And a ship glides like a thought in the air Towards that glittering angel, Golden peace. Dream, gliding away. A dog call; Crows in the mist, seaward sliding. One mast pricks the sea’s heavy silk, Slack weight Unrolling into the morning. Boats light up with the sun - Scarlet and yellow hulls, blue and emerald Dream of sisters Slipping in and out of the sun’s net beyond the world Like phantom mackerel, Silver scales sent dancing up to the feet Of the sleeping town, My town, My circling arm, My sea-reflecting eye - Boats, sky, No passer-by. My morning. .................................................................................................... WAITING FOR HIM TO COME HOME Darkness. Her mouth is dry. Every faint sound in the night she hears, Every distant whisper of wheels, one man walking Miles away on a road without a name. Her fingers scramble among the matches To find solace in smoke. Her throat is dry. Darkness. Out by the gate She stood, bones slowly chilling, for five Minutes, or ten, maybe more after the train The last train to run, had rumbled away Rattling crockery in the kitchen And all the lights in the station Yard went out. Darkness. The house is clean, All the tiny, careful things that pleased him Done, and ready for welcome; small son Put to bed with a promise, Dad will come And see you later on and kiss you Goodnight, wearing his funny Policeman’s hat. Darkness. The friendly flickering Chatter of television clicks to silence. The cats have fled noiseless into the moonlight Among the hedgehogs and the milk-bottles. Fires are out, the chicken-house door Is jammed hard down Against the fox. Darkness. Her eyes are dry. To deaden the ache of fear he taught her reason, Hard for a woman, a slow pill to swallow When all is done for a tired man to sleep - Milk boiled, bed warm - This night empty of him. Her heart is dry. .................................................................................................... CONCERTO IN D (Ida Haendel playing Brahms) A nimble princess is Sewing music onto the expectant air precisely drawing a thread of harmony through holes in the audience every ear will leave embroidered in the end; A good mantle of unfamiliar flowers unfold a coherent grace over translated London .................................................................................................... FAIR GAME (to Cat) Absorbing into my body a thing off a tree I am as much a predator as you who leave On the threshold of my advanced and intricate nest Another half-chewed bloody creature, Proof of your equality with me. In fact, superior - I cannot consume raw blood, bone, fur, feather; My meat is twice-killed with knife and fire, I share with your flying prey a taste and need For safety; the free gift; the sweet wet death-wish Bribing thieves to pass without violation And carry life for the tree. The vulnerable use me. You have the advantage, little beast, my solace. I am allowed to share your residence; I cannot choose To warm my lap with you, only accept Your own usage of me as a bed as I eat pears And remember, as we in fear have learned to remember, That your sire would have killed mine in the forest. .................................................................................................... PARADOX The indolent boy dances into a battle of string because he cannot help being graceful with his wrist and nice knee-strength he tames the wild length and make tortuous knots tight with fingers of flying light The solid conflict defines his mortality. The dance? - It is a bewitching thing .................................................................................................... A PILGRIMAGE Forgive me my long absence. I have come back now in search of my past. I came through the wide sweep of timeless fields (Too late for the mid-honey small of barley ripening, The swathes are raped, and marched in stooks up the fields) To my love-town, working from the perimeter Into its heart. That beat more fitful now. The coffee is good, rich with the germ of memory; Giovanni swings his hips at a younger breed, However; the feverish songs are not the same, And they have all gone - impossible loves of mine. Gone to their private universe that runs Parallel with my own; but where? The past wove And forked in strands, leaving my own thread To mingle with fresh loops of itinerant colour. Alone I return, occasional pilgrim. Back to the loved meeting and parting place To test its memory of me. The plain, The sheep-fields, river and houses still Swim under the belly of the sky; Still blows the mad Midland wind. I hear the sea rise among the cabbages, The wheat seething with sand (that image still), The dull turmoil of wind around my ears. If it could blow time from the rain-red earth And bring back the ice-cream harvest, I Would forfeit a dozen later loves. But this Grey gale has no pity for dreams; It drives me from my sad and empty Mecca, No song scaling the active walls of wind That never kept me, once, from what I loved. .................................................................................................... LINEAGE On some long gone but so real Saxon's account, I'm here. You're here, Mother; a mad Irishman Wanting his oats one day did it, and set the precedent Like the dry little active Jew that started Dad ....... Dust of so many bricks in a new building! Sweet Life - the grass smelt of worms, the long air Was amove with sun, and our birds' begetters sang When the thoughtless stroke fell (in so bland a season!) With the sun in the right place; The generations That rushed then to the stairs of immortal life! Oh, what a wonder. And so the increscent fugue followed and followed From the first love-music ever made, The first chord struck on that cello-creature That sent vibrations down the centuries Into the gay duet that we have played! - My little dear: On some long gone but so real Saxon's account, you're here. .................................................................................................... FOR KIPPER Kitten grew; flowered slow like a hot cinder In smoke and flame. Summer and she were born together. Perfect now, she teaches me to read behind her Pure eyes the mysteries of her race. Weather Excites her! Steeple-chasing the wind, she and I Risk body and soul to delight the appraising sky. .................................................................................................... THE NIGHT HUNTRESS In the tangled churchyard At the dead of night Creeping through the shadows Flattened out of sight Prowling like a lioness Mistress of the wilderness Slinks a scrap of furriness Muscles tense and tight Glowing through the darkness Emerald eyes alight Doggedly the kitten Keeps her prey in sight On small silken stealthy paws Noiseless nearer still she draws Pounces swift with needle claws But her moth takes flight Bounding through the grasses Arcing over roots Valiantly the kitten Dashes in pursuit Tiny grey thing in the night Silent shred of ghost in flight Teasing lilts from left to right Nimble as a flute Through the darkling shadows Under star-pricked skies Homeward pads the huntress Triumph in her eyes Moth has fluttered far away Into hiding for the day She has found another prey Mouse! A peerless prize |