I found these in my Gravity and Grace notes. Can anyone remember if they are anyone’s? I have no recollection of writing them, but there are things about them that remind me of the kind of thing I do. I don’t want to plagiarise anybody, but I find a mysterious strength in these that I rather hope is mine. Can anyone help?
1:There is indeed a woman…
There is indeed a woman, black as a cassock
standing in a desert, in the most waterless part
making images of the sounds of life,
just as there is a woman in bright light
standing in familiar plenty
making images of wind-blown dust;
and these echoes, these rough sketches
alone suggest how non-being
casts aside life or certainty.
The ebony woman is in constant change,
the woman of light ascends transformed.
Can it be that the cloud
is not the rocks? The bright mountain
that heaves itself out of the depths
boring down into the depths?
It is not the rocks. It is death.
That is the sparkling rock, the mountain,
the still boulders, and it is fire.
So then the plain statement is regeneration,
when the rocks become the mountain
and the mountain becomes the broad earth.
There white lilies wither in the ditches,
and forgettable blossoms raise their colour
in the lee of it, where it stands.
2:Part of the problem is that cold…
Part of the problem is that cold
and stasis are different
from the cold immobility
of a man.
It is that there is an echo,
the origin, the finish
of a shapeless something.
Its fulness astounds. A man
in tight armour presses
the cold gauntlet
to our flinching flesh.
Nothingness has no place here.
His outlines blur in the mist.
But he is present,
and the ring of winter mills
follows his pacing.
He guards a voluble tongue,
for he is engaged, committed.
He emerges again, clearly,
but masking his love.