Denise Thomas (1945 - 1998)
Peter Redgrove, poet (1932 - 2003)
Following on from the last piece, I did have a haunting experience on Easter Day, around 3 a.m. This poem describes it...
The Reading
We went at Easter to hear my old friend Peter Redgrove
read at a college. He was already in full flow,
that strong bald head, that resonant, calm voice.
The hall was almost full, the students attentive,
I felt quite jealous. Then it emptied out a lot
and Peter said, I’ll just read one more poem.
I found him afterwards outside, standing apart,
smoking. I said I was sorry
we’d arrived late, but we’d not expected him to start
so promptly. He said, well, they’re Buddhists, you see,
(with a characteristic dry chuckle
I’d forgotten over the years)
and you have to get on with it!
I said, scanning the crowd sitting on steps
around us, Denise is here somewhere,
looking for you, have you seen her? Then realised
Denise is dead. And the pain of that woke me
before I could tell him my mistake, then
I realised Peter is dead, so I didn’t need to tell him.
I padded along to my study to record
the dream in the stillness of the night,
and a few lines ago something fell
or was thrown, and I heard it bounce.
When I looked it was a lightbulb, unbroken.
read at a college. He was already in full flow,
that strong bald head, that resonant, calm voice.
The hall was almost full, the students attentive,
I felt quite jealous. Then it emptied out a lot
and Peter said, I’ll just read one more poem.
I found him afterwards outside, standing apart,
smoking. I said I was sorry
we’d arrived late, but we’d not expected him to start
so promptly. He said, well, they’re Buddhists, you see,
(with a characteristic dry chuckle
I’d forgotten over the years)
and you have to get on with it!
I said, scanning the crowd sitting on steps
around us, Denise is here somewhere,
looking for you, have you seen her? Then realised
Denise is dead. And the pain of that woke me
before I could tell him my mistake, then
I realised Peter is dead, so I didn’t need to tell him.
I padded along to my study to record
the dream in the stillness of the night,
and a few lines ago something fell
or was thrown, and I heard it bounce.
When I looked it was a lightbulb, unbroken.
1 comment:
I like this one very much. The last two stanzas are compelling.
[...]"a few lines ago" - I like how you measured time in writing/reflection rather than minutes/seconds.
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