Monday, October 18, 2010

Ode to George Mackay Brown

Where are you? I ask

In flashing steel across
the cobalt river beside
the humdrum length of
stately buildings swathed
in false impressions.

So you answered,
poet I have not long
come to know, but
who knew us all
a very long time ago

when our eyes were still
held shut within
the crusted gates of sleep
and our bodies, a sorry reflection
of our unlit minds.

You sat among the crags
and upon the salted steps in Hamnavoe
Speaking silently with the elements
A pied piper poised to gather
meanings from unspoken words

spelt by glistening waves and
tides of herring
netted in the rituals of daylight by a
drop of humanity left stranded in eternity's
unflinching cycles.

Gone, though you are,
back to the unformed
your reach is even wider now
and reassuringly

Usurping our chaos that stages its
daily dramas of apparent realness
when, in fact, a contusion of life
pleading for healing
though needing none.

You bless us with the
torture of unimposing truth,
mystifying echoes that
surge in grunts and groans
across our emptiness

dripping life,
such as we allow,
into thirsty lanterns
long burned out by
our blindness,



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