PREPOSITIONS II
TO LINDISFARNE
From Seahouses to
Inner Farne, a bumble bee
escorted our boat.
OFF POINT OF AIR
In a far channel,
a lone boatmen plays the pipes:
‘The Road to the Isles’.
FROM HILBRE ISLAND
A pale summer’s day –
low tide, windless, infinite:
seals bark distantly.
ON YNYS LLANDDWYN
On summer’s last day,
wind flecked wave crests arise, curl,
spill like quick-silver.
FROM THE MARITIME MUSEUM
Brown pelicans glide
freely, over Alcatraz,
like tawny galleons.
FROM GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE
Shouldering the wind, our
close shadows are stretched below
on the ribbed water.
ON SCREMERSTON BEACH, NEW YEAR’S DAY
In the dunes, a seal
was stranded – dissipating whisky
and resolve.
Ian Craine
March 30, 2010These poems of David’s are very good. I find them vivid; they are lyrical but grounded. And I love the lists of “keywords” that accompany them, each of which bears its own resonance.
Dave Press
April 2, 2010I liked the journey across all that water. Can you really make out your shadow on the water from the Golden Gate? My memory is of being very high and constant wind and tide disturbing the water below. I cycled to and across the bridge from downtown San Francisco with my friend and colleague, Robin Norrie. We concluded our cycle ride with a lung busting grind to the top of Lombard street and then held up the traffic for a photo opportunity of Robin cycling down the curves.
David
April 3, 2010Yes, we could make out our shadows. We were there in late May/early June and that day at the bridge about 3.00 and the water was ruffled but regularly so. The shadow of the bridge was clear on the water and also ourselves, or, rather, two hunched humanoid figures.
Your question makes me realise that while I make up most things in life and art I do not invent the images that usually prompt a poem. On the contrary, those images (sometimes literal, photographic images) are the starting point.
Who said writers don’t like talking about how they write?