Thursday, 17 September 2009


I have reared a monument more enduring than bronze - Horace

Awaiting an editio princeps
one assumed an air of indifference
and a way of speaking; lounged
in the square
in the heat of the day;
feverish after the furor scribendi
the scribbled poem
by which others may judge the rest.

Another gave himself up to the sea
and a monument
more lasting than bronze.

Abroad the others
were men with sparkling eyes;
reclining fellows of rustic stamp
giving weight to smoke
and distinction to ancestral honour.

We, in our turn, opened bottles
at breakneck speed
greedy for the company
of unfaithful friendships.

Others crossed the seas
and changed their skies
became an irritable pack
of doubtful travellers
eyed to the walls
by sleep-stirred dogs.

They lived mouth to hand
with dirge and lament
in cities of white-robed fortune.

gw 2009


  1. Seems to me from your poem G, that poets are a troubled lot! I like the way you have separated them into categories - I thought of Browning and Keats in one verse -there are phrases which I think are so very good - mouth to hand for one.Of all the "poetry" one reads in blogland, yours stands out as memorable and gives me a place to aim for.

  2. Weaver, Your last sentence leaves my flabber pretty well gasted. I think we may also include Shelley and Byron in the "troubled lot".
    Went to see Britten's "Death in Venice" last night. Kurt Streit magnifico as Aschenbach. Standing ovation. Myfanwy Piper's libretto and Kandis Cook's costumes capture Thomas Mann's novelette so prefectly. I'll write it up when time permits.


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