This was written in 1972 as part of the 20-poem sequence `civilisation a
diary' which has never been published in its entirety. It was at the time
of the minimalist poetry influenced by Ian Hamilton (also from Darlington)
of `The Review'.
pagan
the coffin wends through Charleville,
it is a rich day for rags;
we thought you painted our rosary.
little is left but the weeping of children,
spawned was your growth;
pagan.
perhaps, we believe you.
that the sun is good,
the snow black as a charnel house.
no epithets.
there will be other gods.
And for those who missed it I should add my Rimbaud poem from `Disbanded'
of 1991. I dont know if people will bless me or curse me for
having so much lying around accessible on disk.
Rimbaud at Harar
I fucked the bastards.
I wrote them the sun
And I wrote them the moon;
Then I wrote my history.
Now I couldn't give a damn.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
|