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Robert Berold

@ Sunday Times Books LIVE

Two poems from The Door to the River

Praise Poem

for pollen,
wet ferns,
sturdy insects,
for all tumbling
for cool shale,
for layers of sea,
for fire,
for renewal,
for helium,
for blue plumbago,
rock cuttings
and railways
balancing on rivers,
for ball bearings,
for the seabird’s clavicle,
for the benzene key
opening carbon’s
lock to life,
for stone mulches,
for the mind of earth:
inscriptions of rosy succulents,
lettering of spiral flowers,
for the oxbow turn
on the Fish River,
for hungry bacteria,
for silver dunes,
for sudden mist,
for gooseflesh.


Voice under wind

Voice under wind, I love you.
I have often heard you threading stars.
Grey light turns my house to ash,
I am alone.
There is nothing to run from.
The town is etched with cloudbanks
and cathedral fire.
The faithful, there are many,
join in song.
The masks burn off their faces.
The town will stand delivered to its blood.
And where will you be on that fateful day?
Racing through electric skies.
Oh children, children. Hiss of wind.


[The Door to the River (Bateleur, 1984) is now a bit marked and worn. Soundly bound.]


Recent comments:

  • <a href="" rel="nofollow">Helen</a>
    October 11th, 2009 @20:22 #

    First poem is pared-down riff on G. M. Hopkins. Lovely. Alas, do not have $15 for "Soundly bound".


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