Tuesday, June 8, 2010

In the Garden with a Poet

in the garden with a poet

when we died we noticed
after clutching at living so long
we had forgotten to be alive –
and now it was night         –David McLean


Sitting with the blackbird’s song and
the clamorous virus that is thinking.

The invidious penumbra of biography a dark lie.

The same sun: the same fat yellow eye
that never cries.

Turning pages: a mortal narrative like everything
living, while those who wish to abrogate the volume
of their diseases forget memory and senescent cells.

Days are here – untidy. That is the beauty
of light: it illuminates the mess
for embracing. We are

a long time nothing. There is no place
to exhibit the night like a sword.



Currently living in Argyll, Scotland with her partner, two children and a cat, Gillian Prew ditched philosophy in favour of poetry even though the former still haunts her. She has three collections of poems and has been published at Full of Crow, Counterexample Poetics, Gutter Eloquence, Gloom Cupboard, Fragile Arts Quarterly, 'ditch', and The Glasgow Review among others. She also recently became a 'Featured Artist' at Counterexample Poetics. 
 


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