Before The Book Before The Thought

Admirers of abstract painting

Always, from as long ago as I can remember, before the book, before the thought

Free verse

No, that’s a new concept, or was until a few weeks ago, now I find it is what I’ve always done, before the book, before the thought

Corbusier Armchairs

Was it Conran, or Habitat, anyway it was a good while before IKEA, before the book, before the thought

Houses with plain walls

It began with Anaglypta, after the flock; but pretty soon it was painted plaster, before the book, before the thought

No ceiling Roses

We had to wait for technology, even now, sunken spots, not easy, not before the book, nor before the thought

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Admirers of abstract painting, free verse, Corbusier armchairs and houses with plain walls and no ceiling roses

Linda Grant

Sexing the Millenium1993

P36

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A Walk In The Park

A place to convalesce

Take the waters

Less the wine

A place for more than rest

Take the quarters

Less the line

Broad walk in the fall

Autumnal colour

Peace remain

Soft talk in the hall

La Femme Pressée

Romance refrain

A place to recreate

Hesitate or wait

Less is fine

A place to infiltrate

Through ages of lime

Less steep incline

Market place they call

Fruits of the land

Body maintain

Landscapes on the wall

Mingling with Ringling Art

Sensuality sustain

A place

Appropriate

Please may I

Stay

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Parallelism

It isn’t that I wanted to focus on those two things

But they did have to be sorted, and now they are

I didn’t have to do the online shop

But I had thought of a method, and I used it

I could have gone to the garden centre, it is allowed

But to be honest there would be little point, or purpose

I have though found a film to watch, from Hungary

I will report back, possibly tomorrow, or as soon as

There was a closeness, purely imaginary of course

The film was slow, deliberate, one might say clunky

The happy ending was retained, it was how I wished

Yes, there was a closeness, and I still feel its presence

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Consequences

And so I think of the lake outside Vienna

Also the Buddhist Monastery, on the outskirts of Berlin

Both being places which I visited via virtual reality

So should I begin another story

Take a trek around my mind and my music

Or travel from Lisbon to Sagres, staying by the coast

Should I play that kind of jazz

Which reality never would allow me

Or should I be more concrete

Rebuild memories of listening to Lyle Lovett

As I played with oil pastels, and moulded clay

His absence from making music may be my metaphor

For what has gone missing

Or what was never even there in the first place

Which is maybe an inch or so nearer to the truth

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Sequential

The ideals, they have not lasted

Even their commitments

Have faded away

Where now to find new inspiration

As the upstairs floorboards creek

And days apart are all we have

How then to light a new candle

Place a writer’s desk

In the space of new hope

It is early summer

How much more

Might we sustainably wish for

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