Sep 1
JOURNEY
( for Seamus Heaney )
I, the only guy
in our yoga class
we cut short
our meditation
decanting ourselves
from the Samuel Beckett Room No. 2
to a room up above
to see you...be you.
Why man, you doth bestride
the narrow world like a Colossus
and we petty people
walk under your legs
and peep about
we like a crowd of cows
staring at an open five-bar-gate
on a frosty morning
heat rising from us
perspiration stains under oxters
when
an ordinary looking man ambles in
taking his time
looking like a kind uncle
from a long ago summer holiday
and then
you open your mouth
words dancing about in our heads
delighting the senses
and all my female yoga class
moan and groan
"Oh...I so want to...fk him!"
"Shhhhh..!" I shush 'em
"Listen...listen!!!"
I cut back the dogwood
to the bone
it throws its fecundity
about this August garden
as your death is
facebook'd thru
and I stop
to think of you
in the Samuel Beckett Room No. 2
and its orgasming females.
I see you
dig alongside me
dig down
through years of time
a passing nod to your da
peeling spuds with your ma
you laughing at me
telling you of the yoga-ites
"Ah, sure, they only
think they do!"
And in answer to a something
or other I had said:
"Everything takes time...even time
takes time!"
I grasp your hand
in mine
that shy smile
the sheer generosity of you
now you gone
on your last journey
I nod to you
you nod to me
and I cut back the dogwood
a little more.
*
I was only after becoming a bookseller and this was my first foray into the getting of books....some little press had the coup( Seamus was like God then )of publishing new poems in a little blue collection and the first poem was ALPHABETS. I fell in love with it and bought 20 signed copies. In the ensuing conversation I told him about the yoga class and he laughed at this sudden *** symbol he had to add to the icon status. I was full of admiration for the then new ALPAHBETS poem and he told me a poem's main ingredient was time...time for it to filter through....percolate...like rain through limestone. He was such...such a generous man and oh...that shy smile.
Over the years i gave away the books one by one to friends and now have only one last copy which I gave to Jan on meeting her. Fond memories.
( for Seamus Heaney )
I, the only guy
in our yoga class
we cut short
our meditation
decanting ourselves
from the Samuel Beckett Room No. 2
to a room up above
to see you...be you.
Why man, you doth bestride
the narrow world like a Colossus
and we petty people
walk under your legs
and peep about
we like a crowd of cows
staring at an open five-bar-gate
on a frosty morning
heat rising from us
perspiration stains under oxters
when
an ordinary looking man ambles in
taking his time
looking like a kind uncle
from a long ago summer holiday
and then
you open your mouth
words dancing about in our heads
delighting the senses
and all my female yoga class
moan and groan
"Oh...I so want to...fk him!"
"Shhhhh..!" I shush 'em
"Listen...listen!!!"
I cut back the dogwood
to the bone
it throws its fecundity
about this August garden
as your death is
facebook'd thru
and I stop
to think of you
in the Samuel Beckett Room No. 2
and its orgasming females.
I see you
dig alongside me
dig down
through years of time
a passing nod to your da
peeling spuds with your ma
you laughing at me
telling you of the yoga-ites
"Ah, sure, they only
think they do!"
And in answer to a something
or other I had said:
"Everything takes time...even time
takes time!"
I grasp your hand
in mine
that shy smile
the sheer generosity of you
now you gone
on your last journey
I nod to you
you nod to me
and I cut back the dogwood
a little more.
*
I was only after becoming a bookseller and this was my first foray into the getting of books....some little press had the coup( Seamus was like God then )of publishing new poems in a little blue collection and the first poem was ALPHABETS. I fell in love with it and bought 20 signed copies. In the ensuing conversation I told him about the yoga class and he laughed at this sudden *** symbol he had to add to the icon status. I was full of admiration for the then new ALPAHBETS poem and he told me a poem's main ingredient was time...time for it to filter through....percolate...like rain through limestone. He was such...such a generous man and oh...that shy smile.
Over the years i gave away the books one by one to friends and now have only one last copy which I gave to Jan on meeting her. Fond memories.
