But that is why we start with white
and pay attention to
the eyes, the lips, the tongue.
Here is one approaching a rare wine
for which he waited long.
Eyes meet;
lips part.
Tongue speaks.
How different, had he sampled red.
The eyes agree,
lips part
then meet.
Tongue seeks.
Never have words been made so well for each other
and provided such a delicious feel.
One phrase containing the textures
of sharpness and smoothness together.
Nothing can ever be done with wine to improve
the way the consonants contrast and blend,
whilst cheese, which requires more angular shapes
The wine must ring with the note of an elegant Riesling
and the cheese, maybe a Brie, its demesne;
the two horizontal directions of space
whilst air takes on the empty dimension of time.
If this must be music, the key will be minor,
and the shape, light and extended,
When matrons, seeking lost romance,
taught maidens how to speak the language of the fan,
then at the opera, passion flamed offstage,
but in our pleasant-
the gentle folk take pleasures second-
So, when they found their seats in front of mine
and she began to waft her programme sheet
to cool her cheek, myself, though hardly young and green,
was not prepared.
But Oh had they been young, had she been sweet,
and had I learned to read this silent tongue
where fanning quickly means I loved another;
fanning slowly means I married him!
Then urgent, ardent,
you have won my love,
don’t leave me,
yes and me and yes again,
and we are being watched.
but I will come to you
and all the while,
I am
I am
engaged.
As fever burned me up
I thought,
This can’t go on!
It did, until the interval.
Discreet, I leaned and touched and fanless said,
‘You have distracted me.’
I thought,
she cannot hurt me more!
She did.
The Second Act ;
but neither she,
nor her demure young friend returned.
(In the Sidney Opera House)
We have a problem.
You are in a state of welcome weightlessness,
but we remain where gravity is king
and some of us can scarcely rise out of our seats.
When you blasted off, we thought,
They are going to a place where weight is six times less,
There the sun's undiminished rays grill burgers on the rocks
layers of processed cheese suffice to hold it in.
Ketchup, squeezed, negotiates a graceful arc,
falling at a fraction of the speed we are accustomed to
and could be caught by anybody keen enough to move,
while gleaming towers of ice-
much further than they ever can on earth.
that the burden of inertia must remain
and someone walking with a liberated, jaunty, step,
but somewhat heavier-
will find it hard to change direction, or to stop
and would be best advised to sit quite still
They were the savoured heart of rustic fare,
what thread is there within that tapestry of lives
To answer this folk used to say,
as though to right all wrongs,
No part of them is ever wasted!
Then we recalled that surly group,
we met in Corsica one summer night,
There’s something that I need to say.
Il y a quelquechose que je dois dire,
J’ai vu une fille, très belle,
pâté of seal,
Never trust a woman with blue-
We are jewels lost in sea caves
where the water is salt and fresh,
and sunlight plays through waves
Night falls and the sky is filled with soft lights;
and warm air blows in from the whole world.
and never allowed her eyes to say such things!
a symphony in an ocean of light.
The whale rising up through the staves
and krill descending or floating above,
the overspill of a golden choir
and the whale-
extinguished and fulfilled desire.
The solo cello is a declaiming instrument. It talks and it discusses, but who is it talking to?
Prelude
What a day for embarkation, running with a heavy swell,
though, thanks to Sir Ralph the Rover,
no-
going on and on and endless, all for one and one for all,
while the sisters, though benighted, were invited to the ball
and the Prince, in desperation beats his head against the wall
He has walked upon the water looking for the Holy Grail,
but the slightest undulation makes us stagger to the rail
and the lack of concentration at each ill-
is quite unlike the aim of one who loiters with intent.
So, when x or y extend out to the unknown z dimension,
all must then confront necessity, the mother of invention.
Allemande
We will see, though at the moment
I am feeling quite perplexed by my sensing of direction,
whether this or whether that should be the path we ought to take,
and when all the indications predict uncertain outcomes
to the shaping of events and the strangest turns of fortune
start to make kind of sense to the purpose of this journey.
It is best, and we will see it, when the omens are propitious
and the storms full force is spent.
Courante
So come now, let us stop,
let us pull ourselves together
as the weather has improved,
and go down to the hold
to find the book that we have left there,
then relax upon a deck-
now before they close the flood-
They are shut,
we cannot do it!
We have left it far too late!
Sarabande
How many times?
How many times!
Lying awake.
Such a mistake.
And the vessel’s endless rocking
till the day begins to break
had much better had been avoided,
Was there something you could take?
Bouree
It is time to shed illusions, you must tell me how you feel.
Do I hear your stomach rumble?
Have you missed your midday meal?
Let’s partake of light refreshment. If your ardour starts to cool,
they could find some grain and grind it to become a grizzly gruel;
broil a fresh spring chicken in it till the skin disintegrates;
make ethereal concoctions to decorate the plates,
based on coils of salted samphire and a splash of cochineal.
Gavotte
But our figs are glazed with honey
and the night begins to fall
and an ancient aspidistra
casts its shadow on the wall.
Is there something you’re not saying?
Are there things you want to hide?
Do you fear the reef beneath us
that will take us by surprise
when the storm surge has abated
and we cross it at low tide?
Gigue
Best go down to lend a hand now,
as I know what you are thinking.
Take your stint there at the bilge pumps,
if you fear the ship is sinking.
No, the Prince has found the slipper
and he waves it at the band,
and the Captain sounds the siren
and the ship approaches land.
There is some, perhaps dubious, evidence that Bach’s unaccompanied cello suits could have been the work of more than one person.
Pigs have only one cry for alarm or pain,
distinguish between
a venial
and a mortal sin.
But was it a mortal sin committed then
of all of those wonderful savours,
starting with the singed skin?
Yes indeed, there is a Table d' Hôte,
but we suggest that only if you wish not
not satiate, but to create an eager palate
willing only to learn how flavours combine,
Here a fine salad and various meats
not serious eating, but sport,
ideally a light mousseline blending the sea taste with cream
and wine, dry and astringent,
to cancel all guilt.
The wine must be red and profound.
Such a time will not be found twice.
your life is naked before you.
which surely proclaim that, though glory is past,
work remains, and they speak of age and decay
For most of our guests, this
when the sweet speaks of a second birth.
Fullness has come and with it the golden wine
and the slanting September sun;
an early heaven falls on a late earth.
Then autumn winds start to play
spirits fiery as the last distillation of light;
chocolates sharp and compelling as death
and frosted as winter's breath.
Now when you come to check the addition,
and make out the balance to all that you have.
But, if you prefer the set meal
It is said that those who once taste that,
Who is this siren with Sunday-
divine shepherdess enchanting her lambs?
She should be able, if any one were,
Who are these lambs that graze on the hill
where the warmth of her light lets no cloud shadows play,
and why, when this love is so patient and sweet,
should one of these little ones stray?
Who is this sheep that returns to the fold
and gazes at joy from the darkness of sin,
never thinking that eyes so long sightless in love
might see signs of man in him?
All I remember about her now is her white blouse.
She was always so far away,
on the opposite side of the class.
At play
I stayed with the boys,
my circle of friends
not knowing then
that the circumference is real,
but the diameter
only a concept.
Sunday Lunch in the cafe near the olive trees;
we had learned, too late, of the need to reserve
and were leaving. Rain started to fall.
Heavy slow drops, but you could easily walk between them.
Their car was parked at the front.
either he could not pull back the little round catch,
or else it failed to extend to its full width.
I only wish I spoke in a tongue where poetry came so freely.
Neither can I remember whether kedgerie
was served at Saturday lunch-
or Sunday tea, though I think not.
that dry rice and bits of old, smoked fish.
that kedgerie was waiting for me
What was the first sign of madness?
meeting the stream whose fierce spate had long died.
then out past the white rock to the island
The offshore wind withheld from a grey sky
by low cliffs like a dark mirror
whose brown-
that among the seals and the migrant birds
a mermaid sat combing her hair
not two tables away, and drinking wine with one waiting glass,
as light, mingled with fear, rose in a gold spray.
For him! strong as an elephant seal,
with his helmet and leather gear,
He was the boatman, not now, but twenty years on.
He was the man who did not say
how we should find the red line on the grey sea
beyond which it was dangerous to pass.
He was the man who did not say
what we should do as the engine stopped
But all of this I saw in the silvered wall
of the mirror that faces land.
Not for me the wild call when eyes meet,
or the seagull cry of the sailor’s long dead soul.
Hands with bright eyes elevating knife,
deftly-
drizzled throat reply composes complex finding;
Voice (sharp through mist and hints at sea-
face ripe with piquant spicy sauce
and glazed, could-
Agrees, extracting arm.
Face dulls,
jaw falls,
smiles cease.
Her life was run with military precision,
which is not to say that nothing was left to chance,
only that no chance was left untested.
She knew the place, the position, of everyone in the room,
their strengths and weakness,
including the men in the picture hanging behind her,
who,at first sight appeared to be a regiment,
but, on closer inspection
"A Highland Gathering"
as she glanced toward them, and turned;
respect mixed with disdain
and a look that said
she had laid low many a Captain in single combat
and would do so again.
She, who never had need to look far for opponents of stature,
could always bring peace on her own terms,
Lips that knew there were two sides to every question
quivered and said, or seemed to say, " I
could have taken them all on."
providing a serious test for the tasters
who have to work their way down through the bread
If you sent them a piece of bread, nicely buttered
What is the meaning of all of this jam,
when all we require is a good honest loaf?
If though, a child went to school
with its lunch in its satchel,
and slightly stale, perhaps from being prepared the night before,
it might find the crusts rather crisp over a soggy middle,
where bread absorbed some of the sugary juice
while the jam became dry,
but, on the other hand this could be so delicious
as to be irresistible.
What can we see if we can not see love,
that soft and rounded blackness fringed with light?
What can we hear if love then holds its tongue?
Only the heartbeat in the dead of night.
Or might we find the sweetly scented birch,
the ash with fresh stripped bark
so moist and white?
Or else red ochre of the heat-
with cracks around each lace-
but eyes that must have seen his love,
and watched it die?
Never wasted
(Tales of love and food)
Wild pigs at the Cape Canaveral launch site.
Photograph by courtesy of NASA
This collection has a theme, but not a thread and most of the poems in it were pre-