Object no. 14
In the gathering dusk the neighbourhood looked unfamiliar, but I knew the car was around here somewhere. All I had to do was walk up and down the rows of parked cars until I spotted its familiar shape. The streets were virtually deserted, but anyway what would I have said had anyone passed me? I could hardly ask if they had seen a silver Passat. Then turning a corner I ran into what I took to be a small dog, a toy poodle to be precise, though its hair was bright pink. ‘Can I help you?’ it asked in a husky American accent. ‘A robot,’ I thought. ‘That’s right,’ it said, wagging its tail. It eyed me quizzically, its head cocked on one side. Clearly I was going to have to be careful here. I tried to empty my mind of thoughts, and set off down the street, the robot dog following. ‘Hey sarge, I don’t think you told me your name,’ it said. ‘Looking for your car, by any chance?’ I pressed on along the street, trying to shake it off. ‘Some sort of neighbourhood watch scheme,’ I thought. ‘Not even warm,’ the robot poodle said.
(Published on Stride, June 2017)
On entering the apartment I was surprised to find that a number of the guests had arrived before me. They had evidently been there for some time, and were making themselves at home, lounging in armchairs or sitting on cushions on the floor. I had expected to be early, deliberately arriving in advance of the appointed time in order to enjoy a few private moments with our host, and to be in possession of the territory as it were when the others arrived. On my way there I had pictured the apartment, which I had not previously visited, visualising its pale blue striped wallpaper, the collection of antique carriage clocks, the paintings. I had seen photographs, and knew of his tastes from our frequent conversations, and the rooms were in many respects exactly as they had been described, though in other ways disconcertingly unfamiliar. G came over to greet me, and his manner was as open and genial as it had always been. I had thought of him as reclusive, a man who did not easily admit others into his company. But the presence of the other guests now left me unsure of my position and I found myself looking down at the carpet and noticing to my dismay that the lace of my right shoe had come untied.
(Published in Tears in the Fence, No.65, Winter/Spring 2017, and Best New British and Irish Poets 2017.)
the pressure to form a line is hard to resist
a noun, a qualifier, a dependent clause
people wait to board a train that’s late
or queue to see what’s now available
we’re social animals even when solitary
digging roots with a spade someone made for us
if the moon were a thief there’d be no reflected glory
and who hasn’t basked in some, if only vicariously
It’s simply a matter of waiting, and with a rig
there’s no need even to strike
we say: ‘she’s like a fish out of water’
in the same way classic cars only have value
for those who value them
thinking becomes a spot the ball competition
without an adequate theory of language
this one weighs 13lb 4oz
a rod and tackle replace prosody
thus an idea can be described as either ‘above’ or ‘below’
a spade is a spade regardless of its quality
any preposition (such as ‘above’ or ‘below’)
may appear in a number of propositions, like a float
bobbing on the surface of a poem
(Published on Stride, December 2016)
He was wandering on the tow path near the meadow,
where the swans made their nest. I guessed who he was
by the patched brown cassock, frayed waist cord,
the tonsure. The goslings had caught his attention,
and as they glided over he took a bag of bread
from under his habit and fed them. He said he was passing
and begged me not to mention it to anyone. He didn’t want
a shrine there disturbing the swans. ‘There’s no thought
for wildlife.’ I asked if it was true he’d preached to the birds.
He laughed. ‘I talk to them often, but that business
about homilies, that wasn’t me. You know how people
invent things.’ He held up an unmarked palm.
‘I stopped believing years ago but still enjoy the outdoors.’
Did he know Liszt’s pianistic impression of the legend
I wondered. He said he did, and once told the Abbé in person
how much he loved it. That painting of him, with fowls
in a farmyard, arms wheeling, also makes him smile.
(Published in The Interpreter’s House, 56, 2014)
Wish you were here
Who would have thought we’d become so fond of this place, so unlike anywhere
we knew in childhood, though strangely familiar, like the reification
of everything we longed for once, a world that we now find
Admittedly everything is changing, but the hotel offers
complimentary massage, and a guide if required, though we know where we are
most of the time.
We’ve been here before of course, who hasn’t; it’s why we always come back.
And the armchairs are still the same though altered.
we’ll venture further, take a different path, try the tea room on the corner.
It might be our kind of place, somewhere we could pretend to fit in,
no one being any the wiser. We can always leave if the water gets too deep.
(Published in New Walk, 10, 2015)
La vida es un carnival
Somewhere on the other side a woman was singing in spite of the regulations. The words ‘braced’ and ‘translucent’ may have been used though it isn’t certain. We talked about people with a family resemblance, afraid they might arrive at any moment. Eventually a small group of us decided to go down there. In the main square, papier-mâché maquettes had been hoisted into the trees; each wearing the colours of sunrise, the beach doubling as reminiscence. Transferred into another language the phrasing became a reef. A breeze came in off the sea, the scent familiar though hard to place, hints of cinnamon, wild oranges. The yacht too was memory.
(Published in Brittle Star, 36, 2015)
A study in anatomy
If you believe humans have shrunk through history,
that the giant in our troupe is a throwback to an age
of towering heroes, what does that make me?
A creature of the future? An advanced stage
of human development? It gets a laugh. I play
the trumpet with my feet, embroider with my toes.
The crowd gawps in wonder. I tell them, one day
people with limbs will be on display in freak shows.
At one time a heifer with two heads was the star turn
on the bill – both mouths chewing cud. She died
of colic. Now a monkey fills the top position.
He resembles me in size, which attracts the odd snide
remark. Not that I care. If we’re talking similarity,
I’ve seen many a looker-on scratching at his balls.
That jaw cracking a nut, that stooped frame, free-
hanging arms – who’s aping who? They’re animals.
Earlier I had tea with the acquisitive Mr Hunter.
‘Living things have a tendency,’ he said, ‘to deformity.’
He wants my twisted carcass, this connoisseur
of oddities. He talked about ‘variation’ and why
there are so many living creatures. That’s heresy
I told him. He smiled complacently. I like his proposition.
It would be something to help in a future discovery.
Twenty pounds cash. I have no love for this skeleton.
(Published by Ink, Sweat & Tears, 2014)
For Joseph Cornell
Personally I like the hotel’s Spartan décor, the parakeet
in the lobby, the way ships salvage has been reused
to give the place a nautical air; the fishing net
over the windows, for example, which prevents guests
from falling out. Every room has a view of the Blue Peninsula.
It’s the parrot hunting season which always attracts
an extraordinary crowd, like those teenage girls in the bar
borrowing phrases from Schubert lieder
to trade hidden meanings. We should visit during
the ballet festival. The concierge gives lectures
on the night sky, and guests invent their own constellations.
(Published by The Poetry School, 2014.)
Yesterday evening Archimedes came round
for a bath. He was ages about it
and afterwards he said he’d been thinking
about the relationship of mass to volume
the mathematics of bodies and cooling bath water.
I said I hoped he had not been disturbed
by the drumming from across the street
nor by the neighbour’s raucous singing
(accompanying their new karaoke machine.)
He said on the contrary he’d watched through the window
the light pass from orange to pink and the swifts
criss-crossing like the threads of his thought.
He was seeking he said an equation
with the elegance and clarity of the early evening light.
Somewhere a dog began to yap and Archimedes
chewed at the ends of his beard. So far the bath problem
had eluded him.
You asked him to supper but he wouldn’t stay.
‘I bought fresh fish at the market,’ you said,
‘a wonderful cheese, such juicy blood red oranges
and wine.’ But he would not be tempted. He said
he was working on something to do with calculating
the earth’s circumference and wanted to get a letter off
to his friend Eratosthenes. It seemed
they were onto something big.
(Published by Ink, Sweat & Tears, 2013.)