Simon Smith
MANSTON
aircraft of wood & canvas drop off the end of the earth
‘in the bright field’ correct here & present
a quick wipe of the mouth
mix the hot & cold from the tap
in the days before parachutes
dinner a good thirty quid these days
as sea light accelerates up short
& then a stray bottle top scoots under the fridge – damn
these are the first air raids in the world
but which Fall album is best
the endless tedious debate
whilst the yellow paint blisters to the melody
Peel Sessions/Hex Enduction Hour/that disk with ‘Cab It Up’
take the meal then push away the plate
which causes me to recall the last thing
my grandfather said when we left him at the home
‘I’ve lived my life – now go & live yours’
Sopwith Camels shut out the Gotha bombers
shine brilliant as Icarus & phosphorus
in terms of practicalities we stop for a cup of tea
block out the damp & cold
which takes me a long way out
maybe swim the Channel when I’m that far out – might as well
a bunch of notes – transcribe speech & what is going on now
gothic imperial crosses float on the estuary
present & undetected
the aura of the material
what the argument sails through
dodging showers storms flak
on the Iliad dial
to brace embrace & cover the brain box
its contents light shifting with the water
surface impact accelerates – the mouth to its endless ‘o’
a rough wine tinkles round the enamel cup
startled awake suddenly there are a lot of voices
‘through eternity to the stars’
& the thoughts are beside me
like a nest of coffee tables – these are the conditions
drop away – a last sputter of German Romanticism
go a long way out – to the last drop
NOTEBOOK POEM ON A POSTCARD
(one after Apollinaire’s ‘Secret Poems’)
my dreams not remembered for a decade
like street-lights tangle light
like long-forgotten stars
drinking them away & not remembered
arriving in Paris you cannot go poorly dressed
to hear the moans of the city
through the circus of desire
desire that circus circus of circumstance
going round this heart of mine my hearse
arrives
we were attendees at a lecture going wrong
even the overheads were falling apart
like the stars float away & the Universe
haunted by the terrible news of Nadine
drifting out in the Universe
I love everyone hate none & go quickly
this is the last day in Paris
dreams coming into light
stirred by the wind in a Paris courtyard
where women are sunning
a city of rooftops as of streets
where school children finish their day
there for the grace your grace in your body
I came to Paris to dream of you
the days are gone I remain
where we were on a bus going nowhere
you sat on my knee
I was saying no
you were saying no
I am sat at the metallic bar
tanked with coffee readying myself for the leap off of day
love skips by love & love skips by
love is final
your grace in your body
your grace is your body
reading glasses to read the watch face clear
spring touched Paris just
touched the earth today
I will mail you this poem
I will email you this poem
une carte postale
SUNSPOT
a colourless yard
bar a couple of daffodils left to yellow
& burn in the sun – left to sunlight
bleak grey sun cloudless
behind glass
the wreckage of a Victorian fuchsia
the back gate in all its glory
blue – faded to turquoise – paint peels
in a town so small you can walk across it in minutes
not hours or days or weeks – a city –
O Paris we are drunk full of life
Apollinaire’s line street graffiti
drops like confetti
dropping between the bench
slats where my heart has fallen
I am lopsided in this asymmetrical world
the leaves of books are falling out like tears
& people hide up & down these streets
whose lives end on Tuesday
add up the benefits to add to the bonuses & the futures
POEM
this poem the state of indolence
this is the poem as use mechanism
sounded on the wind – captured in the gaze
we didn’t expect it
to turn out this way
none of us do
why people we love end up as other people
as we head to somewhere else
trace versions in the air
like aircraft failed to return
because you could see
daylight numbers vary
the herring gull looms
large as a dinner plate
where I’ll be waiting in the car park
where I appear a man in need of a plan ‘b’
with a text message – here – on the cusp
as stuff tips out
the bright & fragile
data disintegrates
the briefest of footnotes
as the full-beam of this approaching
limousine is a wake up call
where a plate of stoneless black olives
wait unreflective & dull in the sunshine
where I believe in chalk cliff & turf
where I believe in the materialist
the material universe
Copyright Simon Smith 2013
Simon Smith has published four full-length collections of poetry, and Shearsman will be publishing his fifth, 11781 W. Sunset Boulevard, in January 2014. He has also just completed a translation of Catullus, and is Senior Lecturer in Creative Writing at the University of Kent. Recently, work appeared online at: Cordite Poetry Review (Australia) and at The New Statesman. Essays on his work have appeared at The Fortnightly Review and The Los Angeles Review of Books. He can be seen here performing new poems at the Runnymede Literature Festival in March 2013.
