Sunteți pe pagina 1din 76

Selected poems: of appoximately 470 written more than 30 years ago.

Some of
these have been used and re-used in the anthologized writings and most were
distributed on a CD titled ‘ALL THAT WAS, ALL THAT WILL BE’. These are
collected here in alphabetical order by first line, not in order of writing.
a boy
who grew up in a garden
met a boy who
grew up in a factory

now there is a workshed


in the garden
and the factory is
surrounded by trees
a philosopher
in a library
was working on a thesis
concerning life and death

but his work


was interrupted
when a book fell on his head
a veiled thought
a hidden depth in the glance
the reassuring smile
*
kiss of betrayal
kiss of complicity
*
kiss of dishonour
all you
farmers and geographers

do not use the river


to mark the boundaries
of your land

build boats
and let the river carry you
into the deep deep sea
all your
strategems and plans
cannot give your children
sight

yet the black swan


on the wing
can smell the swamp
across the night
and suppose

that one old and very wise fish


as he floated slowly, suspended
among the caverns of his life
breathing oxygen freely given
by the garden of moss and weeds,
feeding on the bread that rained
like manna from his fishbowl sky
became aware, in the garden of his mind
that every trembling, every darting fish
however small,
left a ripple on his soul,
and the garden that fed him freely
freely took the food he gave,
till suddenly he knew he was only
one small link
in an everlasting chain

and then

with the glassy eye of age


he saw the hand
that dropped the manna from the skies

what could he say to


the suffering and the blind?
what could he say to
the dying and the dead?
what could he say
to the boisterous school of fish he ruled?

I am old and cannot teach you how to dance


I must do my rounds in the confines of the bowl
the dancer dances to a song we barely hear
and then
arose a mighty struggle

men
with their clocks and watches
decided
to imprison time

better they had tried


to chain a river down
as I lie on my bed
the chiming of the clock
reminds me
of the hooting of the owl at night

bird of night

take me
to your moonlit dreams

take me
in your glowing eye
to where the pale moon
guard my sleep
as we stood on the edge of the precipice
a companion remarked how glorious it would be
to take a deep breath and dive into the abyss

my friend
even as you straighten out into the dive proper
already you are travelling at fantastic speed

because of the special nature of the abyss


your acceleration increases so rapidly
that in an instant the speed of your dive
has choked the minds scream
into silence
far behind

the abyss goes on

believe me my friend
unless a greater hand than mine pluck you out
you will never come out of that dive

even if you know that hand


even if it will pluck you out
dont tempt it
before jerusalem
the crowds had already been waiting for a long time
among them were lepers
children deformed from birth
and some who were inhabited by evil spirits

as jesus and the disciples came nearer


a centurion knelt down
offering to put his house and servants at their disposal
but said that he was a wealthy man
not worthy of their presence under his roof

the disciples were tired


for they had not rested or eaten for three days
jesus turned aside and led them
to the centurions house

the pharisees
who had watched carefully gathered together
claiming that he was a false prophet
and began to plot his death
dont pray loudly
with impatience

as if the lord be deaf

in the mothers womb


the infants bones
grow silently
even now
the eagles are gathering

and
my friend
there is
a certain austere beauty
in the cruelty
of eagles

you
may not suspect
that in the depths of your soul
you too
can see that beauty

the spell
of a curved beak
the hidden depths of
a jewel eye

can trap
even you
here is a bird that has travelled
three quarters round the world
each year of its life
it is black
dying on the sea-shore
in a town of tourists
fretted with biscuits by children
ignored by fishermen
it cannot tell
and you might as well not ask

it is dying and that is enough


I am a sailor

in the eye
of a storm

and in this stillness


I listen
I am an angel
I scream
(angels are allowed to scream)
I think that
I am pity
I am sorrow

I listen
(there is silence in screams)

I laugh
(angels can laugh too)
echoes of laughter

they agree
the definition of despair
is an angel
I clutch
my bottle of whiskey
close
against my chest

I dream of bootleggers
I dream of moonshine

I see
bottles bubbling
in the quiet, moonlight

I build a little still


in a valley
by a river

I sleep
I dont know
if children
are the most beautiful
invention of god

or if god
was created
by children
I sit and think
but mainly sit

thinking brings sorrow


sitting is peaceful

should I do more
is there greater virtue in thinking than in sitting?
I tell my dentist
that he is wasting his time
drilling holes in teeth
all he finds is corruption and decay

how much better it would be


to drill neat round holes in peoples heads
lift out the grey matter
from the cranial cavity
and into each one insert
a queen bee and her mates

soon people would be walking around


with beehives in their heads
they would always go
to where the lovely flowers grow
and all their thoughts would be
sweeter than a honey bees

oh death
where is your sting?
in my head I hold a thousand bees
each with a mightier sting than thee
I thought I

saw a hawk
caught by the wind
falling with tangled wings

but my wife dreamt that I was

flapping my arms like chook wings


trying to fly
down the drive
I told my neighbour
who is a doctor
that I had just written
four poems about death

I suggested
that even if they lacked interest for him
from a literary point of view
he may find their subject
of professional interest

he said doctors
were more interested in life
than death

but isnt it true I smiled


that they know much more of death
than lets say the man in the street

for some obscure reason


I then rambled on
about traditional chinese medicine
where while a doctor kept a man healthy
he was paid for his services
but if the man sickened or died
then he or his relatives
were paid by the doctor

anyway while I was rambling on like this


with my neighbour
the man in the street
was run over by a car
and really did get to know a lot about death
I wrote six poems
about death
ranging from the facetious
to the dead serious

for awhile I behaved


as if I was an expert
on death

as if in my arms
I had long carried a dead child
through swamp and desert
forest and valley

till finally
after many years
following a winding river
and by now tired out with the burden
I reached a village by the sea
or perhaps more accurately
a tourist resort

there I laid the dead child


at his mothers feet
and as I looked at it
I realized that it was no longer a child
but had grown into an old old man
if someone tells you
he knows all about the devils works
it may mean
he has been in the
devils pit

if he has been
inside the pit
he will not have left
without a mark

if you
“look into an abyss
the abyss will look
back into you”

if you
“battle with monsters be careful
you yourself dont
become a monster”

and since
the prince of darkness
often wears a cloak of light
beware the preacher
who is familiar with demons
if you can imagine a death
that swoops on you out of a blue sky
like an eagle

and if
in that last and frantic instant
deafened by the beating of wings
blinded
by a rush of blood
you glimpse the perfection
of a curved beak
the clear purity of a jewel eye
so that in the moment of death
you are still
with the stillness at the core of beauty

then
perhaps you are ready

to dance to the seasons


I’m sitting in a pub
by a station in the country
going home
going home

I’ve just come back from the outback


where a black dog tried to root me
in the night
a black black night

I’m a lonesome randy black dog


better be ready with your pants down
all night long
all night long

I’ll root your arse and legs off


I’ll root your eyes and ears off
cause your my love
cause your my love

the train doesnt leave till 10 to 5


and here I’m waiting at 10.35

I’m hard as a muscle


but soft and gentle
just for you
just for you
in the city
jesus came by two blind men

the blind men heard


from the noise of the crowd
that the prophet from nazareth was near
and one of them called out

lord
you can give back my sight
and immediately he was cured

the other man listened to the crowd marvel


at the power and charity of jesus
and he said to himself

lord
thy will be done
and he remained blind

and so it was
in every city
in the music
of your wounded hand
I tremble

like a bird
it has been brought to my notice
by a student of nature
that the portuguese-man-of-war
more commonly known to beachcombers as
the blue stinger

actually consists of five different creatures


which wander free through the oceans
till in response to some secret code
nurtured over billions of years
in the inscrutable womb of evolution
come together in symbiotic affection
to find a singleness
of purpose and design
as a plague to all swimmers

and in my conceit
this has led me to consider that i too
may be a subject worthy of
scientific scrutiny

my refrigerator might be my stomach


the factories that process my foods
do the work of the digestive tract
the car is my means of locomotion
the state library is my memory
my conscience is my credit card
my sting –
the nuclear bomb

i may look clumsy


but if you have a mind to trifle with
my ecology –
beware
it is my earth
mother of the poor
father to the wild
feel it breathe underfoot
tremble with subtle pain
slow heart of stone, dream of ages
forgetting, forgiving, hidden

it is deep
deeper than the sea
it has known everything and forgotten
many times
its tears are rain
its agony the sun

then there will be a


dead rain
a blind sun
in silence
it is the whooping
of cranes
and the magpies
fluted call

which attunes your ear


to a pitch of perfection

that on a spring morning


when the birds
gather in ecstatic chorus

you can hear


in the silence between the notes

the song
of the mute swan
it took a billion years
of drought and flood
earthquake cataclysm and strife
to form the intricate design
of the petrels skull and beak
found along the shore

you wonder if its possible


that so much terror and such brutal joy
should be expended in evolving
this one solitary bird

and yet
for just an instant
in the history of his kind
the petrel
soared upon a shaft of air
to hold
entire kingdoms
in his eye
let me walk along
the restless shores

the stinging
octopus
gives birth to fragile ships
of gleaming white

where from portugal


a man-of-war
trails his tentacles
through twilit worlds

some are made to dream


others to explore
my uncle
who lives in a little
almost unknown country
has acquired over fifty years
the best private collection of old manuscripts
in the whole place

when he dies
he would like to be processed if possible
into parchment
we his relatives
would file past sombre faced
and with old fashioned ink plumes in our hands
put our signatures
on his dried out form then one of us
would take that parchment and put it among
the old scrolls and books in the library
lock the door
and throw away the key
forever

when I die
I want to be burned
so that once more I return
to the ashes from which I was made
but then I also want
those ashes to be put in a hole in the ground
and over them a tree planted
as the tree grows
its roots will draw nourishment
from the cinders
I will see and hear the world
through the eyes and ears of a tree

so it is
some have the peace to seek death
others seek to be reborn
my wife
tells me that her cunt
is getting old

but as
my cock has only one eye
it hasnt noticed
the difference
my wife said
unless you take a good dose of sleeping pills tonight
you will kill yourself through
lack of sleep

I complained
that if I had taken my pills
on the previous night
I would not have written the four poems on death
which I did write

well she said youve got to


work our your priorities
is it so important to write poetry
that you run the risk of
killing yourself

I pointed out pedantically


that such a clear distinction
between poetry and death
could not be made

I said poetry is my life


or perhaps it is my form of dying
I write a lot of poetry about death

and with a note of drama in my voice:

after all
we are all dying in our different ways
I havent decided yet
which way to go
now Im going to demonstrate
how to build a man

the framework is made


from petroleum extractive
light and strong
no tendency to go chalky as is the case with bone
nor is it brittle like fibre glass
and easy to mass- produce with available techniques

it must be assembled carefully


though specialist training is not required,
each part is numbered
a reasonably intelligent person
can put it together by following the code
a code-book is provided

joints are not a problem


as was the case with metal pins
we use flexible swivellers
of polyestered wood
there is no corrosion

refinements to the transistor


and research on micro-circuits
has led to a kidney machine
smaller than a cigarette lighter
held to the spine by a powerful electro magnet

the aorta
digestive system
alimentary canal
are made from plastic reinforced with vegetable fibre
the colours
are purely for ease of identification

the wiring is highly sophisticated


with an allowance for error
short-circuits are eliminated by complete insulation

we do have a problem with the heart


though essentially a pump
present engineering has not produced a substance
which can expand and contract for a sustained period
without developing molecular fatigue
this is overcome by using the heart of a pig
an animal of similar weight to man

sexual organs are immeasurably superior


to anything our fathers dreamt of
university research has produced
a highly sensitised elasto-fibre
the whole kit is designed
to make it possible for our model to copulate with himself

vision is controlled by a Zeiss


programmed miniscule computer
shutter speed of 1 in one thousand of a second
automatic adjustment for lighting and glare
this man can stare at the sun
without damage to the eyes

needless to say
the memory bank is perfect
fully photographic
stored on micro-file

a short wave receiver


allows communication at all times
static is non-existent
there is also a transmitter
so he can give as quickly as receive

in the unlikely case that servicing may be required


the cranium cavity
leaves ample room for access

if he doesn’t suit your taste


the package deal includes
a reassembly tool kit
at no extra price
on a sheltered island
underneath some plastic palms

the parrots of utopia


dressed in vivid green
dance in groups
like clockwork toys

they nod their heads


and look so wise
that no one dares to criticize
once there was a wise man

because he had many treasures


he installed all kinds of locks
alarms and electronic devices
but burglars came and stole some of his riches

so the wise man appointed


strong and dutiful servants to guard his treasures
but when the servants fell asleep
a very clever cat thief
came by night taking many possessions

finally after much thought


the wise man met
the cleverest thief he had ever known
and to him he gave all his treasures

now the wise man and the thief


often sit together
discussing wisdom and folly
one subject for conjecture
was an ageless man
who regularly passed through our town

against his chest


in a wire cage
suspended by a leather belt from his neck
was a small grey songbird

each time we asked about the caged bird


he would tell us
with a note of polite amusement in his voice
a different story :

that it was a travelling companion


and though it appeared to lack freedom
and he seemed to have it
there was an understanding between them

or that it was in memory


of a beautiful girl
to whom he swore to be true
but she left him

then again it was a treasured possession


of an old widow who took ill
she asked him to look after it
and it remained with him ever since

he said the bird reminded him of us


the cage was life,
however far he travelled
he knew to return

once he told us how in a huge city


he stopped under a bridge where two rivers met
a river of oil shone like the rainbow
the other was red with blood

he was the only one in that city


to wake to the morning song of a bird
our hearts are stone
our love
sand
our dream an opal
our spirit
air

our search is food


we are rain
we are flowers
we are seed

we stared at the night


till our skin turned black

we are night
perhaps life is a
decision
made by the elements of the earth
to dance

for a short season


the inanimate planet clothes itself
in a membrane of green
to provide
a stage for the dancer

the child of the silence of aeons


nurtured in the womb of stillness
assumes a human form

to dance
naked upon its parent earth
perhaps it is too pedantic
to discuss

whether object causes motion


or the motion defines matter

is it the wind that shakes the branch


or has the branch given life to air

is the flower beautiful


or did perfection form the flower

can you see the dancer


or is the dancer hidden in the dance

does the dreamer dream


or has the dream possessed the man

did the flute produce the tune


or has the tune been waiting for the flute

I don’t really care about the answers


but the spirits that I talk to
all claim in their conceited way
that it is they that speak to me
planting flowers
mist
bleeding hands

too clumsy
the flowers dont grow
remembering that like wood
I am made mainly of carbon
when I die
process me into a piece of foolscap

and on it
write these words

here is a piece of paper


with nothing on it but
some foolish words
and if you multiply the words
by the number of lines
divide by the number of verses
and add one then you will
have a good definition of a fool
and if the cap fits wear it

by the way
the number is
460
the doctor
pulled out my wisdom tooth
and told me
I’d be none the less wise for it.

furthermore, he said
my children will have no wisdom teeth at all :
the environment of modern man
leaves jaws insufficiently developed for wisdom teeth.
nor will they be any less wise for the absence.

but I wonder
how carefully he looked inside my head;
perhaps there was nothing there
as wise as my wisdom tooth.
perhaps that’s what he meant.
I am further confused by the suspicion
that without my wisdom tooth
I lack the wisdom to understand the situation.

even the nurse disturbed me


when she told me that the doctor
had his pulled out
long ago.
the king has died
deserted in a distant land

inside his rib cage


two crows dance

one that struts and strops his beak


says
I dance like this
to honour death

the other
shuffles his wings and nods his head

I dance for you


my empty friend
to introduce you to the night
the local alley cat
one eyed prowler in the night
was killed this evening
by the headlight of a car

with the silent instinct


of generations of his kind
he writhed and cartwheeled
into a neighbours yard

to die
or to enter another one
of his nine lives

perhaps
the curtain of night has
been rent
to admit him finally

into the paradise


of prowlers
the monkeys in the universitee
do not read my poetree
like the crackpot of the city
I am let to wander free

but in the corners of my mind


I hatch a furious plot
I will build a giant bomb
to disintegrate the lot

so perhaps they have their wisdom


let me cackle to my tomb
there are many reasons
why I wither in my room
THE OLD LIBRARY

perhaps it is right that


the custodians of this library
which is perfectly round
should be inefficient

when it is transferred
into the new building
instead of the perfection of circles
there will be glass rectangles

and the new custodians


of that new library will
be models of efficiency

and
our most regular customers
from the derelicts home
who come here because there
is a touch of eternity
in this room

will have nowhere to go

**

one reason why


the derelicts will not go
into the new library is
because it will be carpeted

they are used to hard


and resonant floors
to them their footfalls
have a hollow ring
they have grown used to that

**

another reason
why they like
to come to this library
is because it is old
they have no
community of worship
in this world

but long long ago


somewhere in the past
it was different

and so if we do provide
them with a service
it is only
that we rescue
the past
from the present

**

in the mirror
on the dais at the centre
of the perfect circle
of this room
you can see

that the old man at the table


is no younger than the oldest book
the boy on the excursion
feels the dust along the shelves

all pasts and


all futures are
only reflections
of the present

**

have you noticed how frail


the old men are
their hands are clumsy like the
hands of children
the books that they read
are the books that children read
books about war
kings
and other lands
**
and perhaps
some of these old men
have no future
just as some have had
no past

in this circular tower,


a dead architects
imitation of a mystery that he
could only faintly glimpse,
these men guard
the eternal present

all others
must humbly wait
outside

**

buildings are haunted


by the souls of those who have used them
the alcoholic, the destitute & the agitated
come here to sleep

guarded by ghosts from the past

**
the other day
I met
old father time himself

instead of wearing black


he dressed in shimmering white

I’ve always seen


the scythe before
but never seen
the hour-glass

he tipped it
back and forwards
like jewels
in a vase
the plover calls at night
to tell us that the night is life

and at night the fox comes out


to pluck the sleeping chicken
off its perch

as he trots towards his lair


bloodstained feathers sticking to his fur
he listens to the plovers call

he wont tell you what he knows

you
creatures of the light
listen
and be warned
the song of god is the
song of the mute swan

his body
is made of loneliness

his limbs
are made from pain

and yet
he has a human form
dressed in the rags of a beggar
he knocks on every door
blind and feeble
he holds out his hand for alms

look closely at that hand


the soul of a clerk
is made
of filing cabinets and
pigeon holes

one day he found


the cabinets were full
of birds
and they had nestlings
in the holes
their hot and bothered faces
cooled by
seaside spray

the tethered people


look towards
the distant boundaries of the sea

their tired minds


are filled with clamourous
seagulls
screeching overhead
there was
a man in the suburbs
who prayed that he be
a sailor

and his mind became


an ocean
the shimmering fishes were
its cells

then he knew that life was


governed
by the surging of the waves
they say
Hitlers scientists discovered a cheap method
of making paper out of jews

on that paper
some good books were written
but they were anti-establishment
so Hitler had them burnt

it was
a-round-about way
of burning jews

however
the ashes were scattered in a fertile valley
and from them grew a great forest
which Hitler ordered to be chopped down
and made into paper-backs

the paper-backs
consisted of progaganda
so Hitler forced all the german libraries
to keep it on their shelves

the americans
bombed the libraries
turning them into heaps
of smoking rubble

and if there is a moral to this story


dont ask me what it is
they watch the white birds stoop through mist and spray
beautiful as a dream

it makes them think that


they are near the sea

they wait
to soak their withered hands
in salty water
once again
time waits for no man
and no man waits for time

the best thing to do with clocks


is to play with them

my local watchmaker says


he is too busy to read my poetry
because he hasnt got the time
2mni

Ntrlir - ... 2mni blz; 2mni suevnerz, 2mni pnoekioez; 2mni Via Cavourz, 2mni Przr Garibaldiz, 2mni
Porte Romane; 2mni jpsez bgn nchrch stps, 2mni indinz sln sunglrsz, 2mni blak mn sln h&bagz, 2mni
talin mn fingrn fliez. 2mni rnunsiaeshnz, asnshnz, kruesfkshnz, rzrkshnz.
But nvr 2mni FONTANE (spshli liek th vecchie fonane nSiena & San Gimignano & th groetsk fontane
n Prtsr Annunzirtr nFIRENZE) & nvr 2mni krnlz (but 2mni gondolerz & gondole).

Saluti da Venezia!
walking down a summer lane
you may not notice

the shadow of

the crow
flying overhead
what is the storm
which cast the soaring bird
down
to the dying earth

and whose the pain


that raised
the ageing hawk again
on pinioned wings into the air
when finally
the house has
been made clean and tidy

the devil
goes wandering around
desert places
for forty days
and then he comes back
with seven other
devils, each more powerful
than himself
and finding the house
clean, he says
let us enter here

on that day
make sure that
you keep the window
of your intellect shut
for it is through
this window
that the biggest devil of all
attempts to enter
when he saw that they had turned against him
and were practising every kind of perversion
he sent an angel to punish the people

for six days


the angel strode through the land
pestilence in the left hand
a flaming sword in the right
till half the people broke out in boils and sores
so that even little children were covered in pus
the other half he smote with the sword
so that the earth was awash with blood

on the seventh day


he saw that his bidding was done
and a voice echoed through the heavens

this is my body
this is my blood
when I lay
on my wife
her stomach heaved
like an ocean

and I was
on the waves
knowing that life
came from the sea
when simple simon met the pieman
it was the pieman who was going to the fair
simple simon was on his way home
from a psychiatric institution

as soon as the story about the incident leaked out


they promptly put him in again

anyway
the pieman made a lot of money at the fair
and they both lived happily ever after
when the lord knocked on my door
I said
sorry
I havent got the time

it is exactly twelve
he said
the last hour
and I assure you
my watch is right

I’m sorry sir I said


no disrespect intended
but I mean I’m busy
I’m in a hurry

dont worry
he said
it doesnt matter
I have all the time in the world

take as much as you need


when the multitude had eaten
he was asked by one of the disciples
who would look after the people
when he was gone

jesus
who had sought refuge by the lake
saw the crowd in the distance
and said

when I leave
brother will fall out against brother
son will disown father
bread will become stone
even the marriage wine
will turn into vinegar

and yet
if they are to enter the kingdom of my father
the restless will not find peace
and the starving will not be fed
when youre dead and buried
and at last
you think youve
found some peace

now that the


procession has gone home
and your funeral suit
is baggy with a loose
collection of your bones
you grin
at grieving solemn friends
calculating what
youve saved

you may not


think it so funny

when you see the raven


strutting on your grave
with the price
my hairdresser charges

I expect to get

a crewcut
a shave
a vasectomy
and a frontal lobotomy
writing an obituary
requires some talent
not everyone
has sufficient rapport with the dead

to be a professional
obituary writer
requires talent indeed
to be really good
you must be practically dead yourself

the only one


who can write an adequate obituary
for a dead obituary writer
is the owner of the funeral parlour
who having previously employed
the writer in a professional capacity
also sold him a life-insurance policy
which though it kept him poor
just covered the cost of his burial
you are a master of disguises
I slash through them
as through so many sheets of tissue
and I still dont see you

you have shuffled the deck so well that


king, queen, jack, joker
you yourself dont know who you are
you whose lives are
governed by the clock

remember that the swelling


of the tide
and the bleeding of
a womans womb
move to the rhythm of the moon

at night
the farmers dog will howl
in the city
the lunatic will dance

S-ar putea să vă placă și