HAVING MISTAKEN YOU PERHAPS FOR YESTERDAY?
"Am I supposed to be dying. . ?"
Death
that person from Porlock
answers
quietly ". . .yes."
"gently gently gentleness ...
...the dark was talking to the dead"
Louis I loved
your "drunkenness
of things being
various"
you so "incorrigibly plural"
with your rather curious
Englished Irishness.
Me when I was
the me of 12 and a day
walking 30 miles
home from Dublin
with the record
of your voice
clutched in my hand
not noticing the miles
"Time was away
...and somewhere else."
Jan 27, 2021
Jan 27, 2021 at 4:14 PM UTC
HAVING MISTAKEN YOU PERHAPS FOR YESTERDAY?
"Am I supposed to be dying. . ?"
Death
that person from Porlock
answers
quietly ". . .yes."
"gently gently gentleness ...
...the dark was talking to the dead"
Louis I loved
your "drunkenness
of things being
various"
you so "incorrigibly plural"
with your rather curious
Englished Irishness.
Me when I was
the me of 12 and a day
walking 30 miles
home from Dublin
with the record
of your voice
clutched in my hand
not noticing the miles
"Time was away
...and somewhere else."
***
AUTOBIOGRAPHY
In my childhood trees were green
And there was plenty to be seen.
Come back early or never come.
My father made the walls resound,
He wore his collar the wrong way round.
Come back early or never come.
My mother wore a yellow dress;
Gently, gently, gentleness.
Come back early or never come.
When I was five the black dreams came;
Nothing after was quite the same.
Come back early or never come.
The dark was talking to the dead;
The lamp was dark beside my bed.
Come back early or never come.
When I woke they did not care;
Nobody, nobody was there.
Come back early or never come.
When my silent terror cried,
Nobody, nobody replied.
Come back early or never come.
I got up; the chilly sun
Saw me walk away alone.
Come back early or never come
***
Louis was born in the Land of Ire but had a very English classical education( rooming with Anthony Blunt )so he is an Irish poet but a curious cross pollination of nature and nurture.
His little AUTOBIOGRAPHY poem was the first poem to reach into my life and tear me out by the roots. After that I realised the world...even my little world... could be contained in words.
For Louis it was his mother...for me my sister.
I walked the over 30 miles from Dublin to my home in the Curragh 'cos I only had my bus fare or buy the Louis MacNeice record...so record it was! I arrived home in the wee wee hours of the morning.
