a thread of light
The tide is sidling up to Almorness, / unmet by those returned now north & west / away from here.
I could think there trembled through / His happy good-night air /Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew / And…
Mistaking the season / the dandelion is blooming / in the frost on the road…
Atween November’s end and noo
/ there’s really nithin else tae do
/ but climb inside a brindlet coo
I ask no lovelier thing
/ Than this December silver:
/ See how the light flakes off the new-turned plough
/ Under the slow great swing
In rigorous hours, when down the iron lane
/ The redbreast looks in vain
/ For hips and haws,
/ Lo, shining flowers upon my window…
(extract from the poem)
/ The twinkling Earn, like a blade in the snow,
/ The low hills scalloped against the high,
Coming up Buchanan Street, quickly, on a sharp winter evening
/ a young man and two girls, under the Christmas lights –…
The year goes, the woods decay, and after,
/ many a summer dies. The swan
/ on Bingham’s pond, a ghost, comes and goes.
Who doesn’t know I come from Rastušje
/ And went to school in Podvinje?…
/ A winter’s morning. Frost.
/ I’m walking alone from the village.
Silence, the burden of the song,
Resumes where winds have blasted through.
The white fields swell to the dark sky,
The matrix they are frozen to.