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
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
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
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
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
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
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
