Category Archives: poems of place

Poems of Place: At Legal Seafoods

07 Monday Sep 2015

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Boston Harborside, August 26th

For Nize, Dulce, and Jarod

Somewhere in that domain of blue,

Across the sound,

A jet is landing to take me home.

I’ll leave

The flutter of nylon in the wind,

The scent of lemon brine

The smiles of well-heeled WASPs,

The bobbing lobster floats

The happiness of families

Dressed up for summer nights,

The welling anticipation of lovers,

The therapy of women talk,

The baseball caps reversed and telling jokes,

And rich mens’ launches which dart across the bay

Like screensavers to my thoughts,

So now absorbed and lost in all of this,

I leave the mobile-me upon a bench.

Life pauses and then a transformation:

I leave reflection to realization and panic

Silence.

And then with staccato heartbeat

Comes the brittle face of loss,

I glance the time – compute the options.

From nowhere yet apparent,

A thunderbolt command says ring your number

I finger tones, anticipate the rhythmic loop

And fast, a friendly voice speaks in my hand

‘We’ve found your phone….’

Across the room, three faces wave at me….

And soon I’m leaving:

My smile and thanks I’m leaving here with you.

Manifesto

25 Saturday Jul 2015

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For shall the poet starve for words

Whilst shivering in the rain?

And will he drown of silence

By the wetting of this brain?

Or could he turn to pen and air

To make his heart beat fast?

And feed himself on visions

So his thirst is quenched at last

And so I’ll not defend my words

As poets sometimes do.

The words of senses sown,

To the senses are due

 

Walsall (12.VII.75)

Poems of Place: At the National Portrait Gallery with Simon Schama

24 Wednesday Jun 2015

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 The BP Portrait Awards

You told us to lock eyes,

Get up close and personal;

Be inspired by Hogarth’s words

And if in doubt, swipe right.

But I didn’t expect a face-to-face with Fairfax

Over the Sancerre and sea bass.

But the Roundhead was a better with pike blocks than with banter

And sadly for me he sat impassively

As I munched on burrata and asparagus,

So I talked instead with Karen.

You might have warned us Dr. Schama

That we’d been invited a Game of Thrones theme night dinner

Where House Stuart showed once more how if you win, you lose

And three big names – Strafford, Laud and Charles

Looked down at us with hauteur and as yet their heads,

As we sat below the salt

Contemplating life’s greatest dilemma:

Of being wrong but romantic;

Or being right, but repulsive?

Poems of Place: Sunday in Washington Square

18 Thursday Jun 2015

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The alchemy of life’s best demonstrations are found

In sudden switchback whirls to happiness,

As when you stumble upon a random piece of heaven

Around an unsuspected turn.

Today Nature envisioned for us the perfect set:

A sky cerulean pan, unblemished and unwashed;

Big trees with names as challenging –

Black Locust, Cockspur, Hawthorn, Slippery Elm

A man-made Garibaldi pointed the way

Beyond the copper glints of water towers in the lunchtime sun.

The audience gathered and seemed the perfect sample

In gender, age and color,

They cradled dogs, stroked touch screens,

Caressed familiar shoulders, checked the progress of probing ants

Or slept off the late night booze on shaded lawns.

Protected by the hawthorn trees, stood the matt black grand

Its veteran keys flanked by plastic buckets – as yet unfilled with either folded notes or metal.

A third up-turned bucket became the seat for Colin Huggins

Our virtuoso in torn jeans, a pork pie hat and the cheery patter

He introduced us first to Frederic Chopin then to Phillip Glass

He holds us all inside his fingers

And in a moment of sweet modulation

We sit within a circle inside a Square

Held In the perfect balance of infinity.

May 2015

Poems of Place: At Kenilworth Castle

17 Sunday May 2015

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For Babs

A generous afternoon gave us

Tea and history,

Mystery, romance and war.

We remembered past visits,

Pictured the family line,

Of parents and their children’s children.

The sun returned in splendor after

Hesitant rain,

But the wind blew through wasted staterooms,

And we, high above the court and ditch

Were sentinels of an empty stage,

Waiting to play our part

In rituals of courtly love.

And afterwards, I framed your face in tracery;

You launched a kiss towards me

And became another layer of history

Here, and in miniature somewhere in the cloud.

.

Poems of Place:Bryant Park, New York City

26 Sunday Apr 2015

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For Alex and Sarah

The slow motion soundtrack of Spring

Is of fervent excavators, insistent sirens, impatient horns

And the clattering treble of a daisy chained kindergarten

On-the-move and cute in red tabards.

Today the advance guard Easter daffodils

Are parading their yellow and green colors

On recovering lawns

Beneath as yet un-resurrected London planes.

In this theater, my seat is in the southern stalls

From where I watch a transitional stage project all this,

But also what has gone before:

Pre-colonial wilderness; retreating bluecoats;

The grieving tears of mourning families in a potter’s field,

The war cries of abolitionists,

The clattering of the elevated ghost train,

Protesting voices for peace and love,

And the sounds of the Midtown zone of No-Go.

Enjoying now the simple comfort of a bistro seat

-Mobile and thus empowering say the philosophers of public space-

I sit cozily inside this waffle-boarded open topped box

Contemplating scarves and sunglasses,

The fine old library, the resting carousel

The stiletto Chrysler, the taller Empire State and above all,

Feeling grateful for the park of William Cullen Bryant.

 

Poems

Poems of Place: Merton Street, October 10, 1974

19 Sunday Oct 2014

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October is a month of ends

And shoals of dead leaves have gathered

Along the gutters of the cobbled street

In which the last of the late harvest chestnuts

Are darkened by the defiant sun,

Or lie disembowelled by ignorant wheels.

From somewhere in Merton, the sweet smell of wood fire

May mitigate against the chill.

But in coffee bars close-by, bereft parents sit contemplating

The prospect of an empty return, and afterwards the quiet house.

 

October is a month of starts

The newly-minted in over enthusiastic gowns

Or projective college stripes

Seek stationery deals in shops.

Or gather at the Fresher’s Fair

Eyes exploring eyes, voices hesitant.

In the Lodge amongst a group that’s dinner bound,

I recognise myself,

Arriving from a different world,

To learn new habits, think new thoughts.

But underneath the excitement of the moment

Did I know the consequences of this trip?

The no-going-back discovery

On this frontier

Between endings and beginnings

Which I crossed forty years ago,

And again, today?

 

Poems of Place: Les Dernières Vagues

17 Wednesday Sep 2014

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La Baie de Cannes, 31 Août

Les nuages arrivent,
Ressemblent aux congères énormes aux éperons à facettes.
Le vent constant et chaud, souffle d’une mer sulfate de cuivre
A travers les châteaux de sable abîmés, des pigeons charognards, des bouchons jetés, et nous aussi: la garnison dernière.
De l’ouest, l’Esterel s’éloigne dans la brume,
En faisant un rideau de fumée pour cacher sa retraite,
Fait prisonnier le soleil sanguine– sa puissance terminée.

A la plage, les claquements des transats, le battement des serviettes,
Les plaintes bougonnées des enfants fatigués,
Et le diminuendo du bavardage composent une grande élégie .
Enfin, le quartier reste tranquille
Pas de rugissement des moteurs tapageurs,
Pas de bourdonnements de drum’n’bass à la Boîte de la Pointe.
Nous avons regardé les tendres adieux, écouté les souvenirs amères douceurs des chagrinants.
Tout ce que nous avons en ce moment est le lavage des rouleaux et le souffle obstiné du vent,
Le ravisseur de l’Eté