Beruflich Dokumente
Kultur Dokumente
H A U N
BEL C HER
1981 - 1989
COLLECTED POEMS
CONTENTS
(1981 - 1984 )
The per-ch
1
Dog's dsing 4
The valley 5
Winter- quar-ter-s 6
Village gr-een 7
Rehear-sal 8
Estuary 9
A cr-unch of gear-s 10
~hp baitcercher
12
Vesper- 13
Docker-'s dr-earns 14
~~e
New Country
1985
Fields of thistle 16
The owl 17
The leachings 28
THE
TIT H E
198 1
MAC H I N E
1 9 8 5
CONTENTS
(1981 - 1984 )
The pecch
The tithe mnchine 2
Dog's cising 4
The valley 5
Wintec quactecs 6
Village green 7
Reheacsal 8
Estuary 9
A cr:unch of geacs 10
1 2.
Vesper: 13
Docker's dreams
14
'T'ho
The perch
a~ound
us
Dog' s rising
The valley
Winter quarters
Boots crunching grass
I arrive at the huddle of cattle
Water drips from lolling tongues
Salting the trough with spittle
Numb fingers, udder red
Tumble the bales
OVer the rattle of the steel gate
And the field's rim of brittle reeds
The weir is roaring
A water filled chest brimming
Cattle fed, I thread the bridge
Arms beating like crows
From the tall trees slapping
I scrape boot after boot
Breath tracing the panes frozen patterns
And glimpse the flame of summer wood
In a grate darkly glowing
Coot hugging bank
Pike twisting root
Each holds it's own winter quarter
This is mine
This vase of rushes
Gathering dust above the fire.
Village - green
A journey
A circle away
A mansion, ivy-towered
In the light
It burns
Red and green
Four windows
Facing south
Across a village green
Blue and gold
Reflections
Fledgling thoughts
Rippling west
Rehearsal
Knock, knock
The room I enter is wide
Of white hills
Which once upon a time
Held the sea
In it
A table and chair
Smoke in a splinter sun
Over
Bleached floorboards
And dust
In the room's grate
Ashes and sand
A feather that smoulders
Stravinsky
Geneva
Somewhere else
Estuary
Pull the rope tight
the boat floats
river is returning
mud slides
water spills
timbers discover weight
eyes closed
arms
spread
new water sheds
bed.
A crunch of gears
Doors gasping
Windows tight on the latch
Silence
Measured by drill smack
A tumble of bricks, askance, running down
A suburban pattern of steeple and track
Breaking the tunnels
Funnelled thunder swerves
A shudder engine
Sliding through walls
Winter hangs signals
The wireless branch
Sudden
A crunch of gears
Soft leaves
Falling hard
Two eyes swivel in two sockets
Descend but do not rest
What heaps
Rusts
11
The baitcatcher
Squelching by
A clatter of clean bucket and spade
Delving deeply
In troughs of weed
Wet wood and spray
He stoops to prise
The worm from the rake
Ploughing on
The gravel face of fenland
Gently stirring
Salt seeping
Through the chipped teeth
To parched tongue beneath
The sea stares
Fresh water inland
Starts to pour
Through chalk and flint
Above it all
The union tatters
Tired grass
Swallows shadow
So many distances
Coasts to travel
12
Vespec
I sucvey with ink the actecial coad
The houc slit
By the hum of automobile wings
Acound me
An entice nation's motion
Of spun leaf and spinning wheel
In my mind's eye
Slows to zeco
The ficst london bcick comes to hand
A flash of low octobec sun
Illuminates a dack steeple
The pecfect specimen
I ceach foc my jac and pin
My notebook and pencil
13
Docker's dreams
I live under rooks
In a city of bridge and water
Mortar guides fin to sea
Two or three hover
In breezes of sound
Like branches afloat in
A reach
Salt, cargo to peck
1983
14
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Rupert Mallin,~.
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However,
yours
sincere~y
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I
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\ G.Woodward. B.Wilson.
,I
THE
NEW
C 0
198 5
U N TRY
Field of thistle
thistle float
fallow to brick
May and
rain tipping
leaves open
brimming wi th
a summer steamer
docking
In gardens
gathered to rows
flowerbeds
I open my mouth
My language
The owl
17
19
20
A hard road
harder than it takes to throw a dart straight
Waits for the feather like nights
The badger flash of making sounds rhyme.
21
22
23
23
Under the ringing of the spire, the safe foundation that calls.
The nets ready sown, the swinging hooks and bait in buckets,
25
26
27
The leachings
29
30
It is early
Not a sound.
roof of my mouth.
One is missing.
Frozen, useless.
31
__
33
Age 13
I stood rooted to this same spot.
Watching white bones being raised
from a tannery well.
Now I gaze at the ground reclaimed
soft with thunder rain
the water, the frogs
a vivid memory.
Whilst away the stone crosses have grown
slightly smoother
and new people have come
scaling the ditch, fields and barns
to their measure.
A poet on the margin, axle sinking in clay pastures.
37
~~e
New Country
1985
Fields of thistle 16
The owl 17
The leachings 28