Notes for some verse on 'A Self Portrait' The Immaculate Conception 1979

The hand-chipped granite neatly held in wire net,

tightly, against the river banks,

meant to check erosion

at the height of the monsoon

when the grey-emerald blanket

sweeps and surges

frothing

roaring

over the banks

then

the boulders rock

and chatter

nervously

asphixiating

in the angry spate.

The season of Puja -

the cherry blossom; flying fox

in the hills

and salvific dhoop

rising to nestle

gently

in the haats

wrestling among

and past

the hairs

at the nares

the terror of joy

as the eyes scream

at the sting

from peeling

the green scrotal orange;

Egrets flying home from the paddy fields

bare after harvest

and the wide long road

leading to dusk:

acetylene lamps

with podgy flames

on exaggerated

burner tips

displaying exotica

of chaat and puri stalls

that never close:

the clank of railway rolling stock

the pinch of burning steam coal..

The spirit has an erection

and the great river

snaking

with stealthy largesse

cradles

the ribbon

of silver

ejaculate

in the moonlight

Notes

To DR October 28 1984

Lent - On a rainy Friday evening March 7 1980

The wet slate

refelects the

diffuse

evening light

the lime trees'

bare limbs

reach into

dusk's

grey-sepia

the

grass

is green, green...

each blade

pricking

through

a raindrop

and

the Blackbird, irritated to

break his

winter celibacy

delivers a Lenten madrigal

from

the television aerial

Pentecost 1980

Climb, climb

the teak groins

aged by tide and time:

and the bare iron

rusted to

dignity

no less impressive

run or walk

the rim

of the lapping tide

and take the treasures

from

the hand you love:

mysteriously

fondling the pebbles

that turn

beneath

a yearning alchemy

to

priceless mementos

of sea air, wind and song

the crying gull above the fronds

of seaweed

lying slippery wet

mucoid

and salty

on the evening beach

Notes

To SC with a woodcut January 20 1982

To CE with a small watercolour December 28 1981

To DR December 9 1984, and January 10 1988

Saint Gregory 1981

Now the staid notes speak;

the green are loud in their silence,

the dull cloud of brine and wrack

scent drifts down over the eager

chorus of organ registers:

Sombre lilac, fourniture spikey-yellow,

the rasp of thistle, and the powdery scent

of dried seed, matted in clumps.

The grass and mown hay send a chorus of

mixtures - sedately mensurated!

And the balm of hidden herbs

scents the serenity of the psalms.

Against the aspirated lisp of

wind among the rushes -

the bourdon drones

as it collects the summer's

nectar to

sweeten and sustain the spirit

through winter's sleep.

Notes

Shared with VB of Holy Trinity Hospital July 6 1984

7 February 1983

Digesting the implosion: over the years,

even torn from your crowns

and dismembered bodies,

you clutch the violent

in graceful roots

never showing

in your nectar

and scent

the evil

condiment.

No longer

standing

mentors

of life

you are

those

wise

servants

whom the

Master will put

in charge of his household

to give

his bees nectar and pollen cake

so they can make wax candles

that adorn and light

the endless liturgy:

now from the censer you flood the skies with

intoxicating scent created from life recycled in

a suburban garden

gracefully.

Notes

These two pollarded Tilia stood in a suburban garden, and clutched in their roots were two unstable ordnance from the war.

A Dream and Manuscripts

Dream

D phoned this morning

In a dream D recalled 

giving me M's Manuscript of Poems

Did I still have it?

It took two hours and some

to go through fourteen packing boxes

in a filthy and dangerous barn

In the fourteenth

There was the manuscript

with a good many notebooks

of my own

Elated

I wrapped the volume in tissue

before placing it in

a post transit package

and set it on its way

first class

Waterman l'Etalon

Waterman l'Etalon

Burgundy

Broad nib

what ink

would you

like?

Violet please

Yes that's better

for you

a bottle

free

Hanningtons's

And a Polar-tech

Cap

Bright red

mountain shop

in the lanes

A French woman sold it me

Notes

Book Black 1996-1997,1 s.16, s.17

edited Beach Scribbles