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October

AUTUMN

The rising wald is auburn, the lake

so still swans seem painted and the hotel’s lawns

that last, lush green before October dies.

Breakfast is muted. Beyond service doors,

a wireless is switched on. Each swing utters

a broken voice. “Oh Mensch! Gieb Acht!…sorrow

is deep…but joy more profound than the heart’s

agony…” And most of the guests look up

towards sun on the woodlands, the war

and smile. But some, as yet only a few,

say to themselves, “The forces of love

are seduced in the marches of the will.

Under glittering waters is oblivion –

but not soon, please, not soon!”

 

 

 

PERSEPHONE

What a work memory is – fecund,

abeyant, arcane!  How apparently

dormant, inconsequential images

awaken, seemingly unbidden!

 

I am fifteen, climbing the steep steps,

two at a time, from the Underground

to the street –  on a sunlit, London

October morning. I look up. Beginning

to descend, carefully, from the gentle light,

is a young woman,  heavily pregnant.

 

She has become a persistent stranger,

replete with promise – unrealised,

as yet and forever.

 

 

 

 


 

A BOOK OF HOURS

David Selzer By David Selzer0 Comments1 min read409 views

 

'Fevrier' from Les Tres Riche Heures du Duc De Berry
'Février' from Les Tres Riche Heures du Duc De Berry

 

July

We are rather formally attired

for country pursuits in the ducal woods;

August

me with a tie and you, I uncover,

with white suspenders and matching knickers.

September

Intimate stranger, forever touching

for your least kindness, forever surprising;

October

unpredictable as light, you bring

my heart from hiding again and again!

November

Earth warms. Ice melts. Seas rise. And nothing,

everything changes. Each day, we marvel.

December

Still flowering, for our wintry birthdays,

are fuchsias, geraniums, a rose.

January

As the tide turns, we watch snow drifting

landward over fields, woods, hilltops.

February

We turn for home – and, in the dark border

beneath the ivy, find the first snowdrop.

March

Our camellia flowers: hardy, exotic.

Palaces are stormed. Governments fall.

April

Somewhere the wind is always blowing.

We make our house tight against all weathers.

May

A solitary swift arrives, gliding,

banking, silent. Our daughter is born.

June

And verdant England is replete with bird song,

with that hushed stirring, that old, old promise.