Do you remember?

Do you remember?

Do you remember Jen, I said 

 on WhatsApp casually called 

my midnight your late breakfast 

our Christmases long passed, sixty years ago 

and, no surprise, you do. 

I think of licking gummy strips for yards and yards of chains 

aged 6, class 3, and holly sprigs on bottle tops

doorstep harbingers; my mother steamy in the kitchen 

harassed by giant ham, and mince pies multiplying 

chief Maker of Magic stirring fudge and fretting. 

And I remember Jen, but do not say, 

my stricken self as you, departing, waved 

Australia bound. 

It seemed a kind of death, too many miles and far. 

But who’d have guessed, imagined in a dream 

such fiction fantastical 

a casual call at midnight, free and clear, 

two old friends in a video link 

reducing the years and years, the farewell tears 

too many miles and separation 

all now nothing 

curtesy of WhatsApp, bona fide on an iPhone 

our marvellous miracle. 

21st December 2021 Brighton for Jen, with love 

Love left behind

 

Love left behind 

The crochet hook’s a lovely thing 

slim and slippery, with shine 

apt and fitting as a pen 

describing, fleet and flash 

a dance with ribbons or a song 

rise and fall in and out 

the even rhythm soothing 

and in its wake the memory of summer 

click clack of spinnakers, wild white waves 

gulls’ cry, salt in a spray 

sunlit days, autumn’s abundance 

sweet smoke rising. 

Watch the wake unspooling 

love left behind 

in legacy.

November 30th 2021 Hounoux 

Product and legacy

 Product and legacy 

I listen to Stella who knows about art and artists

their lives and work 

what others thought of them ( too often Ruskin) 

and I try to piece together, this one before that one? 

Whistler influenced and influencing ( unpleasant modern verb) 

how to go from pre to post

realism / neo, 

from Ah a chair, a jug, clearly an interior 

Dutch perhaps? 

To colours spattered, carefully it seems

Pollock not random 

and certainly not Rothko, those colours most deliberate 

and on the canvas making each other sing 

zing  out loud,

via Turner, moving to abstraction 

Academy decisions unheeded 

and Monet by the water blurring as he aged

or Picasso dissecting his women 

 and the dead of Guernica 

Klimt and Klee, gold alluring like kintsugi 

Japanese poured in cracks

or Midas in the myth. 

I think of Haiku, sonnet, quatrains, ballad form 

heroic couplets rhyming and words 

tossed in the air like Pollock’s paint 

spattered random, rearranged, free fall

and ponder history and timeline 

art in all its forms adored/ abhorred 

poured from the pen the brush 

or pebbles spiralled on the sand 

Gormley’s men  submerging by the sea 

product and legacy, sand blasted into glass 

or castles just between the tides 

art in all its forms or shapeless 

head hand soul 

product and legacy? 

November 11th 2021 Hounoux 

A show and tell

 

A show and tell 

On nightly news, grim 

Attenborough and Thunberg

affirm the fearsome truths 

message not obscured 

clear as catastrophe  

whilst islands drown and forests burn

and storms are fierce raging 

all balance thrown, the planet out of kilter 

Here through the windows 

Autumn’s blaze is beautiful 

bright in the low sun’s slant  

and spotlight 

furrowed fields with lines of vines 

vibrant yellows, red

first snow sparkle along the blue haze chain. 

So all our world’s a picture book

glorious and aglow

a show and tell 

one wordless plea, on bended knee 

a Look,  how lovely ! 

All balance thrown 

our planet out of kilter. 

November 6th 2021 Hounoux 

Lured by the lustre

Lured by the lustre 

Iridescent gold

curling in coils, palette knife

lilies for gilding 

Lilies for gilding

angelic wings and haloes 

Iridescent gold 

Midas and magic 

alas, lured by the lustre

glamorising touch

Glamorising touch 

indigestible error 

Tutankhamen’s tomb 

12th August 2021 Hounoux 

Klimt and gilded angels

 Klimt and gilded angels 

When Barbara bought me a tube of paint in iridescent gold

it shone lush and luminous, gliding on palette knife

thick as cream or butter

utter joy! It slid and spread slippery across the canvas 

turning all to gold, the Midas touch

till Klimt and gilded angels glamorised my room. 

8th August 2021, Hounoux for Barbara. 

Silent subversives

 Silent subversives 

Here’s half a dozen sunflowers 

tall in a fallow field 

have made me smile and raise a cheer. 

Hurrah for the gatecrashers, random, rogue

and accidental cosmos, shocking pink  

colonising onion rows. 

Whilst you might sow and coddle and tend

watchful for enemies out to destroy

for wind and drought and heat and cold 

and often as not your crop won’t grow

beans fail to run, flowers not show

see there on the wall all barren and dry

a rampage of passion flowers has taken root

scrambled and climbed and curtained the wall 

concrete now green, leaf, flower and fruit

somehow sustained in a dusting of dirt

making me smile and raise a cheer- 

three cheers for the triumph the random success

for nature not bounded, out of hand 

silent subversives running wild. 

Hounoux, July 22nd 2021 

Superhumans as they pass

 Super humans as they pass 

Saturday sun is early hot and rising 

stuns the valley golden green 

only the electric crickets ticking. 

But here’s the caravan advancing 

brouhaha and razzmatazz 

and through binoculars the combatants

rider blended into bike 

extraordinary striving 

grind of the day not yet begun

all ahead the foothills rising 

then the mountains floating blue.  

Through the glorious glowing landscape 

super humans as they pass. 

July 11th 2021 Hounoux. 

Singing our own

 Singing our own 

I think of you as I am reaching, searching for rhythm 

and rhyming, assonance

care in the choosing, groping for meaning 

pleasing, novelty 

now that your utterances refuse to flow, but stick

and jam

requiring push and prod, a freeing rod

your fluency now failing. 

Still your Yorkshire lovely lilt, inherited, Halifax 

has made me smile for gratitude-

that you’re battling with the silence 

that you won’t be overcome. 

So from girls to grannies, still 

singing our own in two parts, harmony and song. 

June 16th 2021, Hounoux 

That lets the rain come in

That lets the rain come in 

Unconvinced, she said,  It’s Emperor’s new clothes

not art 

just a square capturing the sky 

a frame,  and today, large clouds passing 

but equally a hole that lets the rain come in

a con trick of the light

so Tracy Emin’s bed unmade, or house bricks in a line

elephant dung, or paint flung and flicked 

Pollock and Rothko- colour mad

visionary or insane? 

And if I write a poem no rhyme nor rhythm 

theme, just words in a jumble 

punctuation-free

or scrape on paint with palette knife and spray 

then watch the colours pool and sometimes zing

 by chance, happenstance 

then turn the canvas sideways so a friend discerns a beach, waves crashing 

though I never meant it so. 

Now is the Emperor clothed or naked? Is he beautiful? 

Who’s to say? 

Displayed with Frink and Hepworth, monumental Henry Moore

here’s a cloudscape in a picture frame 

has lodged inside my brain. 

1st June 2021, Hounoux 

I wonder

I wonder 

I wonder, now the month is May

and so much shoots  and sprigs 

In lovely limes and lemon, 

froths like meadowsweet In clouds 

or clusters creeping, wisteria, 

bee-buzz, butterflies

cuckoo on repeat, not yet the serin

nor the swallow swoop 

but all the busy-ness of May’s marvels, 

set in motion as the earth tilts, sun stretches

at light and lengthening of days. 

14th May 2021, Hounoux 

Grateful for Clive James

 Grateful for Clive James 

Immersed in Hughes and clever Empson 

in sunlight with Mac Neice, glad to have sat under thunder

and rain with them all 

enthralled by the tigred pike 

spiked on his aged grin

women alas too few

the Mrs Hughes and Browning 

and Dickinson, of course, not drowning. 

But I have James to hold my hand 

to buoy me in deep water 

to bid me Leap! And float on thermals 

for such delight 

in depths and heights 

this treasury collected

recollected, got by heart 

since Aussie schoolboy years, note

by heart and not by rote

and bless him for his labours

in his last and dying days 

still his wit and warmth and wisdom 

all-pervading, perfect legacy. 

22nd April 2021 Hounoux after reading Clive James’  ‘ The Fire of Joy’ 

After Louis MacNeice (2) The Earth Compels

 After MacNeice ‘ The Earth Compels’ 

The sunlight on the garden slants at dip of day 

in shafts oblique, long and low, the glow before dusk

loveliest of light mellow filtered

it blurs and blends, this landscape now Van Gogh or Monet

unsharpened, indistinct 

pink in the palette warm on the folds and fields 

as cools the air, pools

single spotlight bright upon yellow. 

We cannot cage the minute within its globe of gold 

we shall grow cold 

seduced by the glow of twilight 

at blessed dip of day. 

16th April 2021 Hounoux. 

After Louis MacNeice ‘ The Sunshine on the Garden’

After Louis MacNeice ‘ The Sunshine on the garden’ 

Anemones, ranunculus 

one small cyclamen low to the ground 

the remnants ragged of a Christmas rose 

three frail daffodils waving, tête à tête perhaps.  

All along the margin where the cypress dominates 

there’s a scattering of precious stones embellishing the hem

richest of robes, glinting in the sun. 

16th April 2021 Hounoux 

Summer’s swallows

 Summer’s swallows 

They’re here he told us, glee

warming his voice, good news! 

And so it was, for all the way from Africa 

lured by the light, the lengthening of days 

harbingers in flight, flocks 

( one insufficient surely for a summer sign) 

but here now in numbers, tail feathers streaming, 

swoop and sweep, faithfully returned 

still paired, programmed to build and nest and nurture 

clutch of young, those gaping beaks imperative

chirp and cheep

the busy barns of Léran, broods, breeding

birth, rebirth. 

No border no boundary, flights unrestricted 

only us earthbound, cribbed, confined 

but eyes ever upwards, what glee and gladness 

good news indeed! 

The martins, saw-wings, hirondelles 

summer’s swallows safe, returned. 

4th April 2021 Hounoux for John, who told us. 

Not googling Vermeer

Not googling Vermeer

Sun being up and early bright 

me too (though less so) 

created slanting shadow grids

recalling Dutch interiors with jugs and maids, pearl earrings 

and now my memory is stalled and flick of the key with revving’s all in vain 

his name, his name? 

Stay calm, relax, oh god, the light’s now green 

picture the windows, blue in her hair

don’t even think of googling. 

How maddening and saddening 

an hour spent with Clive James 

(his name, his name?) 

getting the poems by heart, anon today and Herbert

all three verses perfectly wrought 

Western wind, I’ve wrangled, oh woeful 

for want of a spark in the synapses 

fire of joy unfired. 

But look here ( duck, duck, go not google) 

Vermeer! T’would appear, alive in the era of Herbert. 

Keep calm and be grateful for wifi 

what’s got by heart not by head, instead 

Love Bade Me Welcome, what joy what bliss 

picture this, the slant of the sun through the window. 

23rd March 2021, Hounoux 

For want of a future

For want of a future 

There is no ancient iron key 

such as turned and locked Rapunzel firmly in 

confined within, turret, dungeon, tower

no jailer jangling noisy bunch, clanking 

nor electronic system, tag or buzzer

red light on/off flashing 

none of this security array, not prison cell, thin rations, gruel 

and yet, though no fence is wired, fizz and shock 

no key nor lock 

still we are confined, 

whole world cribbed and cabined 

globally, in chains. 

And though we roam in realms of gold

music, poetry, art 

warmed by the fire of joy 

the leap from the cliff, the pot-hole plunge

a siren mermaid call 

paradise this way, pearly, iridescent 

seducing like chocolate 

yet still, fizz and shock, no key nor lock 

we pace like polar bear, zoo’s shame and horror 

the daily counted steps, back and forth, forward back

for want of a future, promise, possibility 

a tune to play or dance to

hands linked, proximity 

and hold our breath in trepidation 

awaiting the enemy’s call, next move 

pawns,  powerless 

in thrall to the merciless king. 

March 20th 2021, Hounoux 

Undersong

 

Undersong 

Below the stave, 

or higher than the skylark’s sweetest pitch 

inaudible 

a song of glacial moraine, residue 

long ago left

rocks rolled from mountain tops 

now embedded deep, on clay in lumps

the land soft folding, hillocks, tumps 

valleys and foothills, patchwork cover spread 

before the Pyrenees. 

A melody in wind, the Marin, Tramontane 

south from the sea or chilled over mountains, rock and snow 

whistled, whispered through the trees 

across the ochre earth, or swished 

where dew ponds glint and wink 

an air in Occitan,  this land of Oc not Oil 

before the French came  conquering; 

and here the people planted, grew

belonging, their terroir. 

Song of the landscape, sunflowers, cypress 

heard in the heart, the silent murmur 

undersong. 

15th March 2021 Hounoux 

Cader Idris

Cader Idris 

For Cader Idris looms and lowers 

but sometimes glows bright gold,  

crags as backdrops moody, changing 

where shadow clouds in silence slide

all the greens now turned to grey, and in the hollow, 

giant hollow

water’s pooled deep down and dark 

green as green, like bottle glass. 

And should you sleep upon this mountain 

somehow not overwhelmed in land sublime 

where Idris stalks with giant strides, 

then in the morning, legend has it

in bardic songs the ancients sang 

(like Shakespeare’s lovers after sleep 

some magic potion doubtless drunk) 

then one of two you’ll soon discover 

henceforth a poet or a madman 

this is how your life will be.

This is the song the landscape’s singing 

song of the mountains, valleys, longing. 

Poet or madman, throw of the dice 

see how they fell.

Caught in the mystery, awesome, wonder 

Cader Idris casting its numinous spell. 

March 13th 2021 Hounoux 

 

Sunlight pooling

Sunlight pooling 

All day from first light morning’s call 

the sun has dazzled 

more midsummer surely, not March 

before the ides or equinox. 

Ah but cold he said, bitter, biting, 

the sun but flattery to deceive 

for the wind’s from the north 

with ice on his breath, the smack and the crack 

of the lion, not lamb

Hark it doth blow, surely not snow? 

And so

a day to sit in windows sunlight pooling 

through the glass 

in a hazy dream of summer 

where the distant mountains glow. 

10th March 2021 Hounoux 

Embracing imperfection

 Embracing imperfection

Clearing moss, unlovely in the cracks between, 

terrace tiles 

I studied plump-bellied pots, two rows, in symmetry 

and thought of imperfection, cracks and breakages 

the terracotta winter-split and gaping

its luscious curves spattered and spoiled, pock-marked 

sadly battered. 

Here’s not a lovely patina, age tattooing a texture 

nor is the creeping moss embellishment. 

I stood and wished for liquid gold to pour into the cracks 

filling the flaws 

for kintsugi art, ancient, its beauty 

embracing imperfection. 

25th February 2021, Hounoux

We sat in sun

 We sat in sun

We sat in sun, improbably warm 

February, sipping summer 

looking for chooks gone roaming. 

Then lunch and through the window all the long chain 

lovely- distant mountains shone. 

So all that afternoon, noon til curfew

we talked of books and films and family 

our preferences and pasts. 

After isolation, separation, gathered only virtually

not real 

how glad we were for lunch, lovingly prepared 

and friends carefully together,

laughing in the sun. 

18th February 2021, Hounoux, for Ros and Andy 

And look perhaps at lichen

And look perhaps at lichen

Walk slowly he said, the entomologist 

and look perhaps at lichen

amble, ramble. 

How marvellous the mini beasts in motion

scurry/skitter, fly/ flitter 

walk slowly, crouch and peer 

what’s hidden here? 

Some insect digs or spins

in damp or dry, in dark or light

solo or teaming, cooperation. 

See when you slow and amble, ramble 

cut the speed and stare, 

observe and wonder, world in miniature 

entomologist’s delight 

and look perhaps at lichen. 

Hounoux February 11th 2021 

February tulips flop

 February tulips flop 

February tulips flop, lounging languid

casual as an artist’s nude, chaise-longue

reclining 

and effortless, all unaware 

the bare-faced beauties stun. 

So lift my heart and sing my soul

as February tulips flop. 

Hounoux 4th February 2021,

What will you give me?

 What will you give me? 

Japanese  poems 

Liquid gold poured in the cracks 

Haiku perfection 

A haiku’s a thought

Winging straight as an arrow 

Clarified clearly 

What will you give me for this verse, this small quite neatly formed 

this thought-provoking piece of poetry 

in haiku form? 

I wrote it yesterday when feeling flat 

In need of cheer and occupation. 

It took perhaps an hour, not much more, including polishing and shine 

till it felt mine 

In haiku form 

So what will you give me for this verse 

the price of a juicy pear? 

Or flowers, hyacinths in pots, emerging from the dark 

or woolly socks, hand-made in stripes 

or a song to sing to sleep? 

I’d have to concur if you would suggest 

pricing poetry’s really tricky

and ditto of course for painting or pot 

for aria symphony song 

If you’re starving or shivering, lacking shelter or home 

what use is the product of art? 

Could a sonnet be priceless, an ode full of love 

a haiku clarify clearly? 

So what will you give me for this verse 

are you tempted to make an offer? 

I’m sending it off, no pressure no cost 

consider it gifted, it’s yours, with a smile. 

28th January 2021 Hounoux 

Harbingers

Harbingers  

January sky grey scale 

landscape unlovely, in battleground fatigues

dun drear drab 

though snow has sugar-iced the Pyrenees 

and tiny hopeful harbingers, three snowdrops 

signal Spring 

26th January 2021 Hounoux 

Climate changing here

 Climate changing here 

The climate changing in our garden

this midwinter

encouraged unwise plants in pots

summer’s marguerites, impatiens

perkily in pink, and lobelia 

( who normally will flag and shrivel, fragile flowers). 

All however bloomed and brightened autumn months 

quite wrong, but lovely as we locked ourselves in winter 

not much cheer. 

Till sudden snow fell

cold blanket, beautiful killer 

chiller on the terrace 

crime scene, climate changing here. 

26th January 2021 Hounoux

All-weather man

 All-weather man 

Monty strides, pack leader, dogs eddying 

all passion and purpose 

Longmeadow presently bewintered 

pleached limes, rimed

bare arms outstretched 

hard earth iron ring/ sing 

all-weather man. 

Quietly he pots and plans cutting and curbing 

where hoodlums rampage, overrun 

his quiet vision sowing, growing 

foot on spade, fingers in the soil. 

Monty strides, on a mission 

Longmeadow’s all-weather man.    

16th January 2021 Hounoux