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A hard writing I had of it;
escaping from rhyme isn’t easy;half a lifetime to work up to itthen like skirt length, that’s it,the line’s short this season,and rhyme is, so, like, so last year…(and must be insincereif you have to work at itor even want to)so there I was in themidst of getting thehang of cutting the line at thebest place…
Living saints seem to be an endangered species
so how about the ‘sustainable’ bit?How To Be a Saint isn’t yet in thatexpanding Idiot’s Guide serieshoweverthere is a Path, a Wayright at the tips of your fingersthough have your blood pressurechecked firstautomated complaintsand I’m sure I don’t needto spell that out for youthe one that you can’t even get through to make;the options that…
Always, behind the known,
behind the tedious Latin translation,the struggle to find French elegance in French –the private joys of the translator…that rare intimacy, as a soul to soulacross the divides of language…‘Laetus in praesens’ says Marsilio Ficinoin his Renaissance colloquial Latinwritten up around the wallof his Academy, such as it was…The translator – half mechanical,half philosopher, scribbles down‘Rejoice…
Some years, Spring steals in slow and steady,
Not this year: first it came too early,then thought better of it: a nip of proper winter firstwould strengthen human gratitude, thought Spring…Now it’s trying again, reminded perhapsthat all this Easter stuff is due; and markets must recover…the sunlight curves into that yard or tooof sheltered space in the garden whereI dare to sit, five…
I’m on night shift at the moment so
I take the dog up the hill, there’susually something going on.there were three of them upthere today but I must havemissed the excitement; justtwo old ladies and a young manstanding on that huge pile of skullswaiting there beneath themfor the inevitablethey were telling each otherJewish jokes to keep theirspirit up. I only caughtone joke –…
The old pine tree
over the still lakewith respectthough no-one guesses thisonce a monththe pine tree is silhouettedagainst the rising moonthough no-one knows thisits roots drink gratefullyfrom the generous waterthough no-one sees thisits branches murmur tothe lapping lake-water as old friendsthough no-one hears thisexcept you and I and the artist –nature