I like very much this poem, Alison. The imagery is
incredibly surreal and real at the same time (when I
was ten, there was a major train disaster and my
father took me there for educational reasons to walk
around the field and observe the disaster, so I found
it eben more telling). I is remarkable this connection
of derailment and pain.
Really good.
Erminia
--- Alison Croggon <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> Having posted the earlier draft, I now feel obliged
> to post the next - hope
> for your sakes that's all there is!
>
> But it probably isn't.
>
> Best
>
> A
>
>
>
>
> sometimes pain seems to be the truest thing there is
> it sits behind your eyes like a shivering animal
> whose vision is a foil wretched with reflections
> even skins are razors luminous with unshed blood
>
> and you understand anew the fragility of touch
> how real and clumsy it is a derailed train in which
> corpses leak beneath shuddering metal and collide
> discourteously as the worm wakes in the brainpan
>
> sniffing the stench of tears - pain is excess of
> course
> and thus shrugged and deadened - there is no time
> for its midnight pollen drifting through your veins
> rooting and flowering into hallucinatory lymphomata
>
> for shuttered lids and tongues tasting of iron for
> the
> impotence of a half formed gesture which gutters out
> and leaves a trail of rust inside the stilled hand
> for the clarities which ripple in its silence
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