This poem is taken from PN Review 246, Volume 45 Number 4, March - April 2019.
Three Poems
Variations for W.S. Graham
on the centenary of his birth
I have made myself alone now.
Outside the tent endless
Drifting hummock crests.
Words drifting on words.
The real unabstract snow.
– W.S. Graham, ‘Malcolm Mooney’s Land’
What everyone thinks, I
suppose, who has time
to form thought-like
shapes during the long
plunge into the crevasse;
many, all their lives,
have traipsed towards it,
equipped but unprepared
...
on the centenary of his birth
I have made myself alone now.
Outside the tent endless
Drifting hummock crests.
Words drifting on words.
The real unabstract snow.
– W.S. Graham, ‘Malcolm Mooney’s Land’
What everyone thinks, I
suppose, who has time
to form thought-like
shapes during the long
plunge into the crevasse;
many, all their lives,
have traipsed towards it,
equipped but unprepared
...
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