from BARDO

The stars are in our belly; the Milky Way our umbilicus.

Is it a consolation that the stuff of which we’re made

is star-stuff too?

– That wherever you go you can never fully disappear –

dispersal only: carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen.

Tree, rain, coal, glow-worm, horse, gnat, rock.

Roselle Angwin

Saturday, 7 May 2011

this spring rain: politics and a prose poem

Reader, I didn't get in (to the District Council, for the Greens). But I'm delighted to report that several fine upstanding Green colleagues did, and Totnes will be a better place for it. And probably so will I for not having got in ...


I'm really excited to say that as of lunchtime today I have Bardo, my new collection of prose poem meditations and poems, in my hands! It's a proof copy but once I've okayed it it'll roll, and will be here very soon. (Buses: years go by with no significant publications, and then suddenly there are a few.)

Here from it is another little reverie (thank you Jean for that new genre title):
rain sutra

poetry again after such an absence, the house quiet, looking out at the courtyard, its many leaves fat with gratefulness for this spring, for rain, a bullfinch swaying like a tropical blossom on the pot choked with seeding cranesbill, one thrush, a late swallow checking out the eaves, rain making the woods more distant and impenetrable, its tap on the stone step an invitation

the valley’s hush

rain settling in like conversation between lifelong friends; rain, plants, stone, birds at ease with themselves and each other, at ease with how the world needs to be

Roselle Angwin

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