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The Summer Fortress

The Summer Fortress

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 TO RA AND REMEMBERING VERITY FORSYTH I hear you still clear, sure - talking to me now as you would talk to me then; a corner of the garden room; a long table laid for tea, books piled up, shadows of poets and painters stirring; listening, as you hear me say what I do not say; as you tell me what I need to hear but would not: I hear you still I hear you now, I hear you. Skona, July 1997 DATEThis cycle of poems was written in the Weald of Kent between March and September 1979; the last one 18 years later in July 1997, in Skona. 1for thisthere is alwaystime -your fragmentary willconcocts hourswhere the dayhas none,etchesa far horizonforeverin the sun. 2take only touchand that electric guess,hand to hand,till heartsrest within flesh;till your touchupon my facemoves inside. 3you would stretch out,draw me apart,for thoughyou do not know ityour timeis mine.would you want more?would you changethe tidethat carries us,sand within a stream,toward the sea?evenly, 4loving you:the picturesafein the cabinet -mine,the dare to remove;the white palmsstick with sweatnow summer comes. 5knives cut -and death's unknowing,cells grow and bones will break,and still,the starting point -your face,ghosts all the change;leaves -silence,a space for shadows;a space to turn within;and lie at bay. 6your cryhollows the hour,touches starsthat won't explode:and break their hold.butcan hurl javelinsup at space 7you may not believe it but,after the battle,rain washed the bloodonto the village streets,into the Weald.night fallson the Bloody Mountain;a bird pullsagainst empty light;bats fold into theoutline of trees,black on black.above usa harvest moonburns a circle in the sky. 8let us stay,smoke awhilewalk between the silver treesof the Cinders track.night holds us;we liebeside a water tank,listening;waterdrippingdrop by dropwaitingwhere nothing movesthe moment on,where nothing moves.where the airis cool and grassy 9your heart is high,sweeping high:tempers,slackens, on again,states of difference -not by joiningI, in love,would move. 10inyour awkward beautythe landscape breatheswith you;I restI play;in skiesthe peacocks fly. 11do not hold back;you should not fearyou shinefor youhave the brightest light;and shineas life. 12come,we will evade this,armour ourselvesas night checks day;and a smooth sly lightslides through the orchards.thelast bird songsdrain the dayinto a shoal of trees.we can evade all this. 13we will become fond of these days;go over them tirelesslyas armchair generalsover maps.we lay downthe living deathlike bottlesin a cellar;effortlessly. 14the abacus movesbut I will not;its beads have a sort of rhythm,a pretended order.do not listen.silence has a safer sound;even calls the directionsof a hidden road,easily missed. 15i 'd rather notthink;or imagine,know,or evensuspect,grieve,celebrate,wonder.I want tolive easy.whyshould I be troubled? 16yoursis the gift that brings together,that calls me inthat keeps me here;your armsopen;your imprinthauntsyour body,is a barrier of words. 17the train passes placeswhere nothing has changed,where life has gone onjust the sameall the timeI have beenso caught up.it will go on the samewhen this ends; 18dailythe state deepensand I concedeto this roundand to thatthe bets I placethe game I play,the cards that fallfar shortof what I make. 19you smile:the knife you wieldopens the knotthe quickest way,I saw youwalking in fields,a dancer,naked,slender as a scorpion.dares alldo you knowwhat we do? 20lost timeis life's regret:death guilds its share,the daysrob and bleed,and timesmashes easily as glass.the calendarbreaks a little more each day. 21love in distance,and,all the timeI knowthat behind mehe kisses you;youdo not knowhis blooded lipssmear and conquer.each returnyou seegets closer. 22you turnyour eyes,catch up my glance;hold itlike a mirror,distortingby allit cannot see. 23he had madea plaything of fear;caught it in the mirrorwith the sun.autumn will rushbefore the Kentish hopsto dredge his glass -and the image,unreflected,noiselessly dies out. 24death kisses you;the offering of sunsgluts in your heart;an unaccounting changeremoves your hand.you wake;but the rage for lifesleeps on. ...

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