New Selected Poems 1957-1994

Purely slowly their damage dies, cry through cry, As they healthy themselves to what has occurred. night Thrush past a twilight of limes and willows The church craftsman remains to be busy – Switing idols, tough pre-Goidelic gods and goddesses, Out of previous bits of churchyard yew. unexpectedly flinging every little thing off, head-up, flame-naked, Plunges shuddering into the writer – Then comes plodding again, with a limp, over cobbles. That was once a virtuoso’s shaggy dog story. Now, severe, stretched complete peak, he goals on the zenith. He situates a be aware correct at the resource of sunshine. Sews a unbroken garment, concurrently Hurls javelins of dew 3 in air jointly, catches them. Explains a studied theorem of sober practicality. Cool-eyed, Gossips in an earthly code of splutters With Venus and Jupiter. Listens – immobile, reason astronomer. without warning launches a soul – the 1st roses cling in a yoke stupor. Globe after globe rolls out via his fluteful of dew – The tree-stacks experience out at the widening arc. by myself and darkening on the altar of a celeb together with his sword via his throat The thrush of clay is going on arguing Over the graves. O thrush, If that actually is you, in the back of the leaf-screen, who's this – Worn-headed, at the lawn’s grass, after sundown, Humped, unvoiced, turdus, imprisoned As a long-distance lorry-driver, dazed With the pop and static and never-ending Of worms and spouse and youngsters? The Harvest Moon The flame-red moon, the harvest moon, Rolls alongside the hills, lightly bouncing, an enormous balloon, until eventually it takes to the air, and sinks upward To lie within the backside of the sky, like a gold doubloon. The harvest moon has come, Booming softly via heaven, like a bassoon. And earth replies all evening, like a deep drum. So humans can’t sleep, so that they exit the place elms and oak bushes maintain A kneeling vigil, in a non secular hush. The harvest moon has come! And the entire moonlit cows and the entire sheep Stare up at her petrified, whereas she swells Filling heaven, as though purple scorching, and crusing nearer and nearer just like the finish of the realm. until eventually the gold fields of stiff wheat Cry ‘We are ripe, obtain us! ’ and the rivers Sweat from the melting hills. Leaves Who’s killed the leaves? Me, says the apple, I’ve killed all of them. fats as a bomb or a cannonball I’ve killed the leaves. Who sees them drop? Me, says the pear, they'll depart me all naked So all of the humans can element and stare. I see them drop. Who’ll capture their blood? Me, me, me, says the marrow, the marrow. I’ll get so rotund that they’ll desire a wheelbarrow. I’ll seize their blood. Who’ll make their shroud? Me, says the swallow, there’s simply time sufficient earlier than i need to pack all my spools and be off. I’ll make their shroud. Who’ll dig their grave? Me, says the river, with the facility of the clouds A brown deep grave I’ll dig less than my floods. I’ll dig their grave. Who’ll be their parson? Me, says the Crow, for it's renowned I examine the bible all the way down to the bone. I’ll be their parson. Who’ll be leader mourner? Me, says the wind, i'm going to cry during the grass the folks will faded and move chilly while I move.