The poem always wins

Yes. All this.

Anthony Wilson

10424422_1434189856843247_1090234805_n

You think it will be about your childhood. It turns out to be about an onion.

Or a night in the rain, or, not so much night, as just: rain. Except it isn’t about rain either.

Somehow your daughter has crept in there.

She is smiling at you, when she was six. It is breaking your heart.

So the poem has all these things going on in it, on and underneath its surface.

Mixed in there are the friendships with other poets, as they look over your shoulder frowning at what you have written.

The thing your grandmother once said to you about hardly being Wordsworth, darling.

Your desk. Its hardness, for you, now, under these words, and then, for the man who owned it before you.

So it is back to your childhood. A blazing summer playtime. Grass in your face and down your shirt. Nettles, the sudden realisation.

View original post 175 more words

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: