Ministry of the interior
Why does this matter?
Wind, cliff face, wild strawberries:
No time for questions.
*
A dry time: A full year of false starts.
Where I saw poems, I have seen
Only the world and business;
Yet passing through the teeming city,
an early quince bloom, blood-ruby,
recalls the imminence of happiness.
*
Maddened animals.
Cages rock: keepers beat back
Ourselves as martyrs.
*
Governors must regulate themselves,
cartographers and calibrators
disturbed by identity or a passing slave,
heaped bodies, trade disputes, ancient
barbarisms, unsleeping legislature,
the art of distraction.
*
Heart’s late flowering -
Ripples on deep reflection.
Why does this matter?
On Poetry
One day a week is required
When civilities are celebrated
By their suspension.
From bed straight to writing:
Toilet, breakfast, mail,
All must wait.
Dream to script –
No mediation.
Lock the doors!
Eat without thought!
Be unmovable.
Only one thing matters:
Capturing the essence.
When that is done
The tea ceremony, music,
Welcome back the world.
On The Heart
This is an unreliable organ.
Of the others – liver, kidneys,
Lungs, spleen, gall and so on –
Only the brain is its equal.
It requires, therefore, careful
Ministration. You must give it
In equal measure, exercise, rest,
Song and dance. It must above all
Love and be loved by those
Around it. Joy is important,
But do not forget fear and hate
And the other violent emotions
Without which it will lose
Resilience and elasticity.
Harden it only temporarily.
Let its default be brimming.
On The Brain
One must be circumspect
When dealing with the brain:
one is dealing with oneself,
No light matter.
To pick oneself up by
one’s bootlaces requires
A certain perspective and
Some dexterity.
Be resolute: too much thought
And not enough have alike
Opened the gate to confusion.
Grasp the nettle
And watch your hand close
On smoke. Do not despair:
Would you be that easily
Apprehended?
Persevere. Study meteorology,
And lepidoptery. Pay attention
To your doubts and silences.
Remain courteous.
Then you will begin to learn
It does not matter what you learn:
You have performed the illusion,
You are the conjuror,
Of those who swear together
And prove by their wayfaring
That base metals may indeed
Be transmuted.
On Difficulty
No! You are doing it all wrong!
Listen to your voice.
Have you forgotten who you want to be?
No action without thought!
Persevere! Onward!
One last effort after another!
No thought without action!
What is it to be?
OnMaking Love
It is necessary for consummation that,
However hot the flannels, the soap
You wash with is unscented:
When you have successfully led
Your secret desires and unmentionable
Fantasies out into the particular glare
Of that banked arena, and there performed
To the audience’s satisfaction, while the
Clowns mock, the ringmaster’s commands –
When blood and excrement steam –
Then perfume will be obligatory.
The Human Condition
A wood-louse, venturing out
From among the fibrous dead ivy
Clung to its oak host, discovers
The atmosphere strangely charged,
Heated, eddying with smoke,
Cannot be said to foresee
The imminence of its demise
As we who stoke the fire.
Possibly Unneccessary Story
You are walking through the forest when you hear, behind you, the growl of a tiger. As quickly as you can, you move away – but you hear the tiger following you. You start running – but still you hear the tiger behind you. Suddenly you come out of the jungle and are confronted by a cliff edge: you run to the edge and look down – clouds obscure the valley dizzyingly below. Behind you, the tiger’s growls are getting nearer and nearer. You see a vine growing over the edge, strong enough to support your weight. Quickly you climb down the vine and hang on while the tiger (you hear) pads around above you. Then you see, above you, two mice appear and start nibbling at the vine. No! Go away! But they don’t, and continue their meal. Now you can see they’ve eaten part through the vine! You look down – nothing but vertigo. You look up – mice nibbling and tiger padding. You look at the cliff face – sheer! No hand- or footholds. But there, growing out of it, is a wild strawberry plant, with a ripe strawberry. You reach out a hand, pick it and put it in your mouth and Mmmm, it’s sweet!