Sunday, 21 November 2010

SJ Fowler

{Benedict IX, elected Pope at the age of ten shocked
the sensibilities of a barbarous age}

to traipse about the Museum
without even the faint possibility of seeing her
her torch light is doused
she stayed but a month
she let me sleep at her feet but once
Oh Evgeniya Akhmadulina!

but back they sent her
to meditate on the indistinct
to cultivate the wastes
then they told me she was a spy
no lambblood to her name,
but she was one of the ones I loved.

just the thought of the London Aquarium
and the degenerate art Museum
it hurts my webbed redchest
my nocturnal appendix surgery
I miss her more than that organ!
Everything seems older and less colourful.

no Saint Fisher, no benefactor will read my lists
& pay off my debts, hand me on to the upper echelons
she left me amongst the brownfilm slashed;
her burning hair is shed & black about her green eyes.
life has become less promising,
and the people seem much older. 


Peter Greene said...

Neat. That was evocative and very well put together. Thanks for it, Mr. Fowler.


Jenny said...

Evocative, yes. Brilliant!

SJ Fowler said...

My thanks to you both. A great honour to have written the first poem to grace this wonderful new resource