Nichts o the Lívin Deid - by
Kirkyaird, nicht – the hoastin yird
Astir aneath a smit-smuir shrood
Kirkyaird, nicht – the hoastin yird
Astir aneath a smit-smuir shrood
All houses wherein men have lived and died
Are haunted houses. Through the open doors
The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,
With feet that make no sound upon the floors.
A loudspeaker on a car proceeds slowly up the far quay
Last night a wind from Lammermoor came roaring up the glen
/ With the tramp of trooping horses and the laugh of…
When the long, varnished buds of beech
/ Point out beyond their reach,
/ And tanned by summer suns
/ Leaves of black bryony turn…
The ghosts are easy. I can switch them on
/ like a tv soap. Here’s Pa going up the stairs,
/ flip flap,…
‘They make so little difference, the brass, / the tears. Can’t you leave us be?’
/ …
As from the house your mother sees
/ You playing round the garden trees,
/ So you may see, if you will look
/ Through the…
Betwixt of January,
the year’s scantest trawl.
Under the wide and starry sky,
/ Dig the grave and let me die.
/ Glad did I live and gladly die,
/ …
Why do the houses stand
/ When they that built them are gone;
/ When remaineth even of one
/ That lived there and loved and…
Samtal i natten på verandan, cigaretternas
/ lysmaskar, vinet svart i glasen. Vi säger
/ ingenting just, inneslutna i den tystnad
/ som uppstår ur många…