amertume
is the bitterness
of death
first of all
it’s the resentment
of the dying
the no-longer-loved
and redundant
at being left behind
and then
it’s the grief
of the dead
for their loss
of the living
when they’ve died
finally to us
16 December 2004
that pink spring cloud
down the road
is actually
the giant bonsai
at the University Church
of St Mary the Virgin
resting on a crutch
the silence inside
is a fresh-cut flower
16 February 2004
imagine climbing
into God
into the empty cabin
of God
onto the backstage
up to the projection-room
of God
stepping onto
the cutting-room floor
and turning
the theophany off
and making yourself
at home
in the silence
and darkness of God
lights out
switched off
logged out
God
sitting in
the Mercy Seat
going nowhere
in the chariot
then walking out
where God is not
traveller into silence
into more and more
into less to say
Keble College Oxford
25 February 2004
i/
laying the angel
the assailing angel
Teresa wrestles her angel
lay
your angel lady
get your angel
laid
ii/
oblivious to any pleasure
except the overwhelming
of you
he comes at you
with a cautery
kneels in on you
distended
thrusts stroke
after stroke into you
till you loose count
Teresa
sets off
unbearable orgy
endure it
Teresa
take him
take it on
the prosthesis
of the angel
don’t fall back
from him
martyred
by your angel
Teresa
don’t let it go
make sure he lingers
thin-lipped
pride frozen in his eye
that he sees you can take the climax
cauterising from within
undergo
calamitous pain
iii/
watch for his smile
at withdrawal
he’ll go away glad
you endured him
he won’t ever come back
you’ll never know his name
the afterburn’s
so sweet
so’s the peace you feel
when he’s gone
you’ll come to
in the quiet
the bliss is when you’re letting go
when you feel you’re melting
exhaling away
like tallow
like a smoke a steam
or a dust
your body
the words you wrought
all running
this is your soul’s dissolving
you’ll be left now
with a cold lump
of grief
this won’t
happen to you again
Teresa
“Wherefore is it that thou dost ask my name? ”
(Genesis 32.29 KJV)
“They do not tell me their names”
(Teresa of Avila, “Autobiography”, on angels)
Keble College Oxford
February 2004
This dedication was made with the permission of Dr John Money in 2004.
you made it obvious when you
encarnadined the sea
with the green billow
gushing at its crest
off the heaving slick
from your strewn
upswollen wreath
of gore and shadow
the wind-borne “Leandro”
with his Orphic head
that sharks had got Leander
Keble College Oxford
March 2004
a Japanese woman
left the table she was at
took the one beside mine
kept her back to me
and starting doing her hair
she unbound then ran her hands
through her hair
she displayed for me
all the luxury the abundance
the flow of her hair
she unravelled
un did and did me up
with her hair
took me up in the torrent
of her hands and hair
at one point
altered its course
let it down over her right
shoulder for awhile
so I could see her neck
a shore I’d throw myself on
get swept off from again
yes I’d risk
getting dashed
and broken
dragged along
in her current
struggling for grounding in her
till I found the bed the floor
to her body
Keble College Oxford
February 2004
there must be
hand-sized
black and gold insects
where you come from
which you take after
you came in on me unseen
from behind as I was sitting
expected I’d recognize you
just from your touch first-time
your hand was an insect
that landed neatly
on my neck and left shoulder
you numbed
but didn’t startle me
by carrying the weight of your hand
on your middle finger
with the other fingers lightly spread
you pressed down with it
upon a vertebra
I realise now
with the first knuckle raised
and tapped the gap above
I could feel the proboscis
of your blood and nerves probing
finding out drawing out
what I’m like inside
I’m glad I couldn’t see the bite
I felt you raise
this poem
is a cast of your hand
amber
I’ve preserved
this intent
and pullulating
insect of yours
in
God what a moon
what a fucking
great boob of a moon
it’s like it’s come
out of a nightdress
this evening
the nipple’s huge -
its edge though’s
been lost in the glow
St Giles Street Oxford
September 2004
your beauty
is evident
what this means is
you are quiet you are calm
nonplussed
nothing can be added
or detracted from you
you are simply there
as others are not
when everyone’s
just passing through
with your relaxed
and efficient body
impassible mind
you make the moment hover
with the slight drag
you exert on time
I wonder what
your tumult is like
when you grip
onto a moment
and won’t let it go
Keble College Oxford
April 2004
immured
in the flower
the fading
blue flower
go and burn
the blue flower
impossible
blue flower
get deeper
into the flower
let it shrivel
as you burn
sky
and ocean flower
burn it
to its core
there won’t be any light
from the leaves from now on
just heavy flake
from off the char
Keble College Oxford
28/29 December 2003