Another poem from the new Confluence anthology from the Two Rivers group of poets that I lead down here in Devon.
I have known Jane Spiro, and her poet husband John Daniel, for a very long time. When I think of Jane, I think of amber – this is an important motif in Jane's novel Nothing I Touch Stands Still, and it seems to me also that Baltic amber conjures the 'essence of Jane': warm and warming, deep, slightly mysterious and with transformative powers.
Jane works with aspects of language and learning at Oxford Brookes, although she lives in Totnes; and she also has an international reputation with regard to her work – emails from her come from Hungary, Mexico and etc. She and John host Weir Poets.
It's superfluous to say that Jane is also a musician...
It's superfluous to say that Jane is also a musician...
Violin Valentine
I knew from the first moment
we would find a voice, a way to sing,
you just wood and string
without me, and I a reaching
in space, a breath between notes
without you.
I knew how the singing
would be, like a kite on air,
a running like a wild child
into sea.
I wonder now about the mystery
in your wood, if you mourn the forest
where you were, if the wine-brown memory
in your grain holds all the singing
we have done, all the ways we have
reached for new notes,
all the ways we have found our place.
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