AN OLD HOUSE IN SIBIU
Not for nothing does
one layer of brick grow thicker
carrying a need
not to budge at all.
Then another,
small, mouldy
slips into the frame.
The bastards who lived here;
elements - the hydrogen and helium,
iron and uranium of the human soul -
trace tourists' started eyes.
That rather poncey poem was written when I was musing on the relationship between poetry and science as conceived in Eastern Europe, which of course is not a poncey thing to think about at all.
The above house in Sibiu is four hundred years old and probably going to end up as a shop selling amber or mobile phones or something.
Hello, Mike.
ReplyDeleteI really like this poem, great imagery, kind of made ME feel as if I were crumbling.
I was just getting up to date with your blog, and wanted to say hello too.
I have been really busy with research (something I never thought I would actually take seriously.)
I shall be active on Firstclass again as of October, so expect some nonsensical mail.
Judging by the amount you travel, I would surmise that you do not stay in one place long enough in order to grow old - as I hear ageing is a very stationairy affair - clever Mike.
Hello Mr Raven Hansman!
ReplyDeleteFirst Class eh? what course? Level 3 Crumbling or Crumbling for Beginners! Whatever, good luck.
I am old sometimes and sometimes I am not. As opposed to Emmenthal which is always 'oled.