CEMETERY ROAD

CEMETERY ROAD
“may not mean to/
but they do”

I’ve read that
this be the Larkin poem

by any metric
it’s a real shocker

give it its due
painfully spot on
must have
begun somewhere

with Adam and Eve
tragic trace elements
springing out
of the big
bang
catastrophic for
the happiness of our species
wherever they
happen to
eke
out their existence
East, West
North, South
of the Continental shelf

and so me
not yet teenage

about to be whisked, nay,
catapulted to Africa
and apartheid
South Africa
at that

far from this little British
cul-de-sac
joy there in the sweet
English place of
pastoral they
call
a pastoral

where my father dutifully
taught me how
to ride
a bicycle
along the tiny tarmac roads
that slither like
snake trails
(not
weave their way)
between the graves

not much interest in my
life this broken life

scheduled to crack somewherw
along the line
pre-
programned like watch with
Mother, heartache,
failure
sex sharp and sweet/bittersweet
vanilla, spiced, chocolate,
salted caranel
melting pot and
set
to repeat but
not quite
liks clockwork

before which
(and before
post cigarette or
thin after mints)

my father’s little dream
of upping
roots, defining
his Empire somehow not

translating

finding purchase, believers,
means of manufacture

will not
let this poem end as
dead at
point blank range
as (fuck him!)
Larkin’s does

hard to
top him for
negative inspiration

DEMOLITION JOB REVISITED

DEMOLITION JOB REVISITED

breaking rocks off-shore
out on a flat precipice
in the Atlantic

have
   written that poem
wrote it
years sgo

am coming to grips
with what it is like
to feel
alnost broken

but now
roll the film back
yet further

recorded history
years of
home video

the Sun this day
brilliant beyond brilliant
as horrible
   an irony
   as it is to say

my Mother’s voice
am overhearing

telling someone eager
to listen
    they knew what
this place was like
they knew what they
were coming to
            did they not know
what to expect

front page
      back page

centrefold spread

Greek chorus
            gossip horror
the shock
the shame
              character assassination

and they
       or rather he the husband
having Army training
explosives, sabotage
blowing up
                things behind Nazi lines

now
out there consorting
with the men of shadow, figures
in the night
feared
    shape – shifters

blowing up pylons
disrupted the sacred electricity supply

and me
    that night all night
hearing the Indian Ocean waves roaring in to
crash on the shores of False Bay

so much Sun here, Sun
Sun

Sun for everybody

this man and his
accomplices
    attempting to take
this Sun
away

this
   brilliant Sun
of white and golden beach sand
horrible to say

****

sixty years
and we have crossed them
in a heartbeat

so much of that time
faintly remembered
not even
taught in schools
(sad that
somehow we
have so relegated history)

but now
a different narrative,
               a whole different narrative
a whole different way

of thinking of ourselves, this place

and how
we came here
      stifled, imprisoned,
imposed our colonial mindsets

stuck our future in tiny cells
on an island in Table Bay

for long
bitter decades fearing
no hope of solution, no path
to a liberation
that migh
   
allow redemption

a moment of memory
viewed
            with
a self-
forgiveness 

graced by the acceptance
of the perspective of great change

****

and here we are
my dear, absurdly conversing
in the light of all those years

democracy waiting
     in the wings, or rather
on an inhospitable island

time
   become its true essence
as pure
duration

imprisoned consciouness

until
   it was not

you born
in the year of its ending
of the release
salvation

far
  from its memory, vague
on its history

of the swirling eddies and currents that
despite every counter-
possibility produced

a dawn, a new
day

and now
        history has done
a demolition, removed
those back-then voices
that spoke with such
blind conviction,
presumed authority

as
   it slowly, inexorably
whittled me away

ground me
pulverized me
all
   that could not be ship-shaped
grist to that mill

cut
down to size

****

But hey, not so fast!, hold
those horses
hang on
     if not a New York minute
then a
Cape Town moment

but across
       land and ocean

the old monster
has
    found lease of life, more
hideous incarnation

the drive to inflict the worst
of which we are possible
on fellows
of our species

as they, we
did back then

    would have done to you

(and now this voice
those voices

        who do
they belong to, what
                  are they saying?)

someday
truth and beauty, long
liberated

           going to here abide

DRUG OF THE DAY

DRUG OF THE DAY

had my blood
my innocent O neg
syphoned, extracted,
replaced
with King Crimson

planted beds of magic
mushrooms
in the furrows
of my brain

symbolism
being my currency;
mythology my game

was ’69 a Rooster year
and Yasgur’s farm
Hendrix blitzkrieg anthem
and Carlos wrestling
with his
snake guitar
channeling the cosmos
raw, unfiltered

and me sitting in a library
in apartheid South Africa
sweet
sixteen
reading Plato (had
to start somewhere)

desire for a truth mystical
not yet a droll dream

keys
being pushed on
my mellotron keyboard

swirling with tune samples
and snippets of ideas

heart beat be
a drum but could
it do
a hard rock solo?

stuck
on the turntable of life

I watched you undress
slip into bed

wondering
my whole life wondering

was it
beyond me, your
nuance of invitation?

KOI (for G.)

KOI (for G.)

hope this message
reaches you somehow

just to kick off
the world has become a darker
place since you departed
odds on now
we are going
to wipe ourselves out
in nuclear war

stopped by your old place
much had changed, your
inimitable spirit and vibe
long departed
          and I thought of
your fish, those koi
gliding through their pond
in your front garden

had a conceit of myself
speaking to them but
they did
        not appear to hear any voice
or I must gave missed their answer
sound travelling air to water
one medium
to another

who knows what get’s heard,
distorted, filtered out?

what message is received
        what gets missed and
travels on and
on
   destined to expire or
carry on forever

life still chugging along
      a flash of silver scales
beneath
     the surface

I wonder how they saw you
   how much
         they remember now
       

EDIFICE

EDIFICE

let’s start with the cliche

we used to drive past
your supreme campus
buge, lofty bukldings

and I used to dream
of being here, battling
my way against
the odds
tp achieve some
sort of degree

taking two trains
to ger here
      and the climb
up the mountain

red gown red wine
one glorious moment
standing in the sudden
sunlight
    outside of the Hall
my very lazt dsy

and you
your last day here too, twenty
four years earlier
younger
      that previous graduation
(already becoming
part
    of the furniture)

and thinking
    here in this place doomed
blessed to always
keep crossing paths

quantum entangled, caught
in the same
fine-
    spun web

not really not really
empirically verifiable
falsifiable

     just two names once spoken
in the same passing
oblique sentence

two names
to conjure with, before

they
   headed off in different directions quite
diametric

and me long before this
floating past the University
in my father’s car
making
    a wish

LEO B

LEO B (for B.C.)

I can’t be sure,
but I believe that this
poem might not
have been
what you had in mind

when you asked me way
back then “to come
and look
after you”

whilst he who relayed
the request
would be a month
away amongst
the ladies of Spain

I’m not sure if a poem, this poem,
is what you would
have wanted at all

but sensing innuendo
I felt I just
had to decline your
gracious offer
face your lioness wrath
when I told you this
short and sweet
over the phone

short
and sweet

sweet
and short

since I did no comfort
caring back then
I have no idea
what
you think

how
you read this

what shared, interlocked, idea we have
of a poem

and how it is written, delivered
and read

how both parties in
the creation together
forge its
meaning

of what is here
a poem
might have been
a novel

gorgeous entwined narrative
we lived to regret
then revelled in.
View

VAULT

VAULT

opened the vault
hadn’t looked that
deep inside
for a very
long time

found your
photograph back there
brought all that
loss, sadness
to my eyes

and you
standing behind me
so passed it to you

you
   looked sighed
kissed me softly
on the temple
   on the lips

this the place
where all roads meet

all secrets
revealed
       so close it must seem
to the end of time