Splash Into Spring

SPLASH INTO SPRING

A sprinkling splash,

a sudden flash

of ruddy gold -

the first spring stirrings.

A long, slow, turgid rest

supplanted

by these vital chimes.

Today

they share the sunshine's joy -

and ripple wilfully.

Last seasons debris

stirred and shaken,

the fish escape

their sedimentary rest,

herald the promise

of brighter days to come.

Like me, they must have felt

they'd plumbed the depths

for far too long.

Malcolm Evison

14 March 2007

I posted this newly minted poem, yesterday, on GARBLED NOISE - a new multi-contributor blog!

A Noble Silence

A NOBLE SILENCE


The winds howl stung
like a babble
of boisterous children

freshly released
from their desks enslavement –

eyes smart and ears burn,
tears stain
our cheeks, our words

disintegrate –
each futile utterance
yields

to the elemental
sound and fury.
We battle on

maintain a noble silence.

Malcolm Evison

18 February 2007

Mid-Winter Trees

MIDWINTER TREES

Up close the trees
stand starkly bright -
they catch the sun's
low grazing light.

Their distant serried ranks
transform
the ranging hills sharp line.

The sun crowned tracery
of twigs is fused

into a frond of flame.


Malcolm Evison
18 February 2007

First Rite

This is my first poem of the New Year, written this afternoon.

First Rite

Reluctantly compliant twigs

permit the murmuring wind

to pluck arpeggios -

they glisten as they dance,

throw off the recent rain,

as if to solemnize the ground

in Holy baptism.

Shoots drill

through the cold

sodden ground,

shrilling defiance.

Snow’s residue,

a blanket stitch,

hems in the pale green spears.

A sunbeam breaks

the day’s grey wash -

as if to bless

this new emergence.

Malcolm Evison

24 January 2007

The Poet

I've just been riffling through a few old working manuscripts and stumbled upon this one written sometime between 1969 and 1971.

THE POET

That is, if I dare say, my destiny. To grasp

and to expand, each feeling moment. Eternity

not mere renewal. Fearing the used-words

of my thought. My destiny. Are the words mine

to use, is any word, a property. I speak

in fear of loosely spoken

words. My destiny!

***********

Today and alone, I return. To what –

all has changed and still I know it is.

My returning. Home and the word

And the thought of the word. Home, and the skies

are open, and a song

of welcome pounds through my veins. Home,

and my eyes can see the song.

Today. And no more alone. I return.

***************

And night conceals. Not even a whisper is heard.

So silently another dawn – and the fields,

the fields open as if to swallow me. I sit

and remember

(before the night/ another today)

a home. A destiny.

Alive. A sound. A shattering.

A whisper of you

from you for me. All is alive

with sound. The yawning trees, the birds

burst into song – the trees and images

of you. The blossoming and songs.

Songs in my mind and you

beside me. A song. A touch of you

on me; I feel

that you need me (not only I need you)

a sound, a touch – transforming words into

a destiny.

Malcolm Evison

TRANSFORMED (for Helen)

TRANSFORMED

(for Helen)

Right now I feel

the urge to scream

forget the aching limbs

dance deftly

on the brim

of my emotions.

Right now

I feel the lure of love

the light

that breaches

my stoical defence.

I see your face

I glow with joy -

right now

there is no you or I

as we rejoice.

Right now I am

alive with you -

I feel -

imbibe the air of this

our perfect world.

Malcolm Evison

13 December 2006

A Way of Seeing

A WAY OF SEEING


This room is an echo –
echo of all my dreams. The actor
waiting for a role. The preacher listening
to silent voices, expecting
tongues of flame. The fields
are tumbling
down towards the road. Alone,
that’s not like loneliness, a brightness

flows from distant murmuring.
Approaching friends, or strangers even.
The valley is alive, the room
is echoing
with hope. Pain falls
a victim to its own dis-ease. The room

is light; the light reveals
my will to see. It enters me.

I dwell
in brightened shadows,
ignoring shadowed light.


Malcolm Evison

A Question of Balance

A QUESTION OF BALANCE

Garnering the thoughts
of others, he fails
to find some of his own -

he holds back tears to show
he does not share
the fears others know.

He balances the cost of feeling
against the numbness
of blind fate. He sighs

and calculates the cost
of caring, avoids the sharing
of any others woe.

He always felt that questions
would sustain his growth -
he never claimed to know.

He bought himself
a ticket to ride
then found

he had no place to go.


Malcolm Evison
19 November 2006

Aubade (sans le soleil)

AUBADE (sans le soleil)



Wrapped futilely
in the realm of beauty sleep –
dawn rarely dawns on me.

Long after the appointed hour,
the room is thunder-black -
draw back the curtains.

The sky has lost
its breathing space –
choked by the clouds,

voluptuously hanging
in their mourning drapes –
symbolic of a troubled world.

I sigh, and seek
the duvet’s solace –

for me the day
has not yet quite begun.




Malcolm Evison
26 October 2006

EMBRACE

EMBRACE


Wrapped in each other
we break illusions
of our separateness.

As bodies merge
we lose location
finding our place

in vaster schemes.
Thanksgiving, sanctified
with each embrace,

transmits a joy
beyond our reckonings.
Today

love knows no bounds.



Malcolm Evison
22 October 2006

Her Book

HER BOOK

Loose pages from time
collated and combined
to form a seal. ‘Fidelity’

italicized, illumined
on the manuscript –
an idol or ideal

once thought immutable.
Priestess enfleshed
as traditor, she stumbles

on her many tentacled
equivocation –
recalls the ritual

rending of the veil.
No longer able to maintain
her former love’s sectarian claim

she riffles through the pages
of her life. A few words
underlined, her youth transcribed

on parchment; genial memories
transformed into mysteries –

a facile binding
of a former liberty.



Malcolm Evison

NIGHT SHIFTS

NIGHT SHIFTS


Aimlessly walking through
the quiet town, an echo
painlessly affirms belonging.

Night falls;
the day disintegrates -
all reference fails.

I cannot wrap this world
in meaning. Slowly it burns
out the old images, the worn

words, the soiled. This is
the turning point; the nights
calm trodden underfoot.

Hold out your hands;
capture a fragment
of the neon-splintered

sky. A window brightly
shouts its wares.
Stares

into darkness
and reveals
its own banality.



Malcolm Evison (1978)