Tuesday, 29 June 2010
Monday, 28 June 2010
Wednesday, 23 June 2010
William Jack Harper
He is an old man,
More over,
He is a dying man.
Who once,
Long before
I am conceived
Straddled mountains,
Won over women,
And left his family for them.
Now he is straddled
Swallowed up
By the tiny expanse,
Of his hospital bed.
His breath drawn
Held tight like canvas
Under the arched cathedral
Of his ribs.
Trembling with
The pressure of a hundred voices
Trying to make physical
The blank howl
In which age
Has wrapped
His once sharp mind
Finally he is overcome and the eyes
Put fourth and paint huge voyages
Across the void of his cheeks
Until ashamed they hide,
In crumpled folds of skin.
No longer the master
Of his own body and space.
He is asked if he knows who I am
Fragile, tragic and human
He draws into himself and considers
“You are like us"
William Jack Harper
Here I am
Trying to write
A poem
About blossom
And I’ve run out
Of cigarettes
It’s much too late
And all tonight’s smoke
Has faded blue
Around the ceiling
And of course
I can’t think
Of anything
That I can write
That might
Do it justice
And anyway
It would probably
Just end up
Being about you
William Jack Harper
It seemed the whole world lauded us this morning
We were it’s first born
And it was proud
Dumb, coy and awkward we presented ourselves
And for you I felt a genuine affection
Our work is to create a language
That justifies this all
The fresh pigment of spring
And how it poured fourth and sang
Bold and saturated
In greens and blue
From the nocturne
Of countless nights before
Everything was new and this felt like a beginning of things
Tuesday, 22 June 2010
Raymond Carver
Late Fragment
And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.
And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.
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