(South China)
The gong sounds
long and far from the brass...
and dragonflies everywhere
on this sharp golden hill
They are all golden
and go silent
in yellow stalks of grass
The gong sounds
and pale hills drift
in sandy shapes beyond... (from the book Late Liveries)
Of Each
Faces in the strange
lurching wanly into light
so familiar
as if of ourselves
call them friends
the circle of light
flicker of our moments
and then it wanders
as if of ourselves
our love
the lambency in them
the hover in each ghost
before it wanders
as if of ourselves
this the soul
the dark they stagger in from
heartlessness theirs and mine
neglect so familiar
as if of ourselves
is riven life
and how we hold them (from the book Shades)
Bacon Bits
The mind of course prefers
to see itself aloof
in satin of a cool hue
yet all the while these sides
of beef yawn above it
unfurling hacked ribs like wings
bracing like blood shutters
It knows
It is even at times
aware of the smell of cold meat
This much does the mind allow
of its materiality
and screaming within
frosted walls
and a few seams of light
the nth time deny it (on a Francis Bacon painting, from my book Angle of Incidence)
Bionote
Peter Thompson's books of poetry include Late Liveries, Shades and Angle of Incidence, and books of song lyrics include Daybreak and New Words. He has edited two anthologies of French literature, and translated books by Léon-Paul Fargue, Véronique Tadjo, Nassira Azzouz, Nabile Farès and (forthcoming) Tchicaya u Tam'si and Abdelkébir Khatibi. He edits Ezra: An Online Journal of Translation.
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