Coalend Hill Farm 1962 - by
I don’t remember the Beanley orra-man,
/ his boots down the lonnen black as a wet day, his caravan
/ under a butchered elm’s…
memory
Castletown, Isle of Man - by
How strange the way old lovers move into the present,
/ tense, and catch you off guard; you tell me
/ when you were…
I Want To Be Buried in Chafteía - by
Posters are tugging me by the sleeve,
/ Athens my town with all your beauty contests.
/ I want to be buried in Chafteía;
/ twenty…
Mother - by
All this last week I have been thinking
of my mother, thinking of her taking
up in her arms the creaking basket
of clothes, without pausing, up to the attic.
Loch Thom - by
1
/
/ Just for the sake of recovering
/ I walked backward from fifty-six
/ Quick years of age wanting to see,
/ And managed not to trip…
Solway - by
Love unfolded then, like crumpled petals
/ opening into sunlight,
/ unfurling at the stroke of spring
/
/ as we walked the seven miles of estuary,
/ reaching,…
Glainead - by
Chaidh do ghlainead a chur nam chuimhne
/ Nuair a sheall mi mach air an uinneig reòtha sa mhadainn
/ ’ S an aon…
Ealghol: Dà Shealladh - by
Choimhead mi an t-seann chairt-phuist,
/ na taighean mar fhàs às an talamh,
/ na h-aonaichean nam baidealan os an cionn,
/ nan comharra air mòrachd…
Paragraphs from a Daybook - by
for Claire Malroux
/
/ On a beechwood sideboard, there sat in state
/ an object whose functional equivalent
/ would be, in American, a trivet,
/ but “trivet”…
Henvendelsen - by
Verden forklarer seg som skritt i grusen, sollys,
/ en kvinne gjenkjenner faren sin (en berøring
/ og litt varm pust, savn uendra gjennom…
Kom til Jorda - by
For et par år sida ramla en duggdråpe ut av et av
/ kronbladene i liljetapeten i det avstengte rommet i…
My Grandmother’s Love Letters - by
There are no stars tonight
/ But those of memory.
/ Yet how much room for memory there is
/ In the loose…