PM00000080000003230 15: 2012 § 2 Comments
For the poet’s image is a spoken image – Gaston Bachelard.
Building on notions of home, heimat, the uncanny, Maya’s ‘Meshes…’, doppelgängers, here are two poems of mine from earlier this year: the first from walking back to a present home (UK) and the second written on returning to a former home (Barcelona). Perhaps they can offer an path….
for Helix Pomatia
Wet, bearing softly home up
glitter-crossed path unlit
I close my eyes:
guardian of small things,
guide my way clear
of the silent lovers
of moonlight’s cool
and autumn’s breath.
Keep them safe
those mute, melting gods
carrying whole worlds on their backs.
to a City
So I went back. Just to see the place one more time.
Remind myself of what I had and who I was and used to be.
Went back down those same old streets and alleys,
Past those same shops and crossings,
Watched the same buses and bikes sweep by, saw the same dogs.
All in order on my nostalgic wander
Until I ducked down a familiar short cut
Only to find someone already there, head bowed, scribbling into some notebook.
He turned as I called.
‘What are you still doing here?’ I said.
He regarded me with a pitying stare.
‘You can’t be here. I’ve left.’
Silently, he held my gaze.
And there we stood, together alone in the side street
Until finally he spoke and said
‘Yes,’ I answered.
‘You have,’ he said
‘But I haven’t.’
Then I walked away –
Left myself alone in that side street and walked out into the city.