And there it was: the swell
and glitter of it like a standing wave –
the fabled, smoking ruin, the new towers rising
through the blue,
the ranked array of ivory and gold, the glint,
the glamour of buried light
as the world turned round it
very slowly
this autumn morning, all amazed.
Robin Robertson.
and glitter of it like a standing wave –
the fabled, smoking ruin, the new towers rising
through the blue,
the ranked array of ivory and gold, the glint,
the glamour of buried light
as the world turned round it
very slowly
this autumn morning, all amazed.
Robin Robertson.
2 comments:
Thank you, b. Hadn't come across this poet, but impressive. In return, I offer you George Szirtes: 'We carry strangeness/ in our blood. We are oucasts/from our own Eden.'
I was fortunate to hear him reading last Autumn - he's the real thing.
Thanks, C. Sounds interesting.
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