… and somehow
we have all paused
by the cool funnel
of the Fair Sky in mid-ocean
by a river, waiting
for an incoming punt on grey watery cables hung with strands like
dental braces
by our dripping tap
in the border of the flyscreened verandah
by a stile in a
Welsh field, waiting for a sign, even for Arthur
by a mountain so low
you could fly into its peopled utopian forest at the flick of an
eyelash
always waiting
embarras de
richesses
on an islet in a
pale bay like a bug on a flannel sheet
with nowhere to go
under a paunchy sky
but up
And this poem is more cause to pause. It's like a roll call of potent images/locales - I think the Fair SKy (migration?) at the beginning and the beautiful Welsh field (homeland) in the middle is effective and is so moving
ReplyDeleteLizz, if I ever manage to get the poem included in a collection I will include your appraisal! Thanks, it was meant exactly as you've said. :) I'm not sure of my title, but will have to think about that.
ReplyDeleteyes, this should be in a collection; I read the lines as alternating between flat rural Australia and the rivers and fields of Wales. Not just about contrasts but about the pull of here and there, there and here. This inescapable longing and tension in being caught between between two worlds is in a lot of your poetry. It's particularly great and poignant here, I think.
ReplyDeleteYes, this wonderful inclusion so sound and rich.
ReplyDelete