Poetry Thursday: Sharing, not Writing

I haven't had time to write any of my own poetry this week. I've been too busy writing my first column for the Jog Squad website. Hamish just asked me whether that was my first piece as a professional writer. I'm not getting paid to do this, but yes I guess in a strange sort of way it is.

Instead of sharing a poem of my own today I thought I would share another from Essential New Zealand Poems, selected by Lauris Edmond and Bill Sewell. It was the beautiful imagery that drew me to this piece, the observation of a slow easing of day into night. That and my as-yet unanswered question as to the identity of the unaccomplished bride.

In Abendrot
By Ken Arvidson
From The Last four Songs of Richard Strauss at Takahe Creek above the Kaipara

The far Brynderwyns heave across the harbour,
rising upon the second tide, mountains
in mangrove moving, weaving
the last complexities of the sun. These
are a tangle of reflections. Over them,
the next peninsula shines yellow,
pastoral century of slow change,
and the roofs of pioneers, like beacons, prophesy
the imminence of fishermen, their lights
alive and casting, quick
to be out before the strong tide sucks and runs.

I sing of our long voyaging,
and you who led me, at my side;
I sing the saddest of all things;
I sing the unaccomplished bride.

The hills will cease to float soon, and the mangroves
ripple themselves away.
the wandering flames of grass will calm, and the cattle
boom night's gullies up and down. My lights
will anchor a headland. Boats will take bearings,
seeking the channel; and then,
the Kaipara will move out.
A shag clap-claps in shallows.
I point the way to an open sea,
though all my doors are closed,
and I within.

Go slowly, sun. A gentle death
of day is in the birds that wheel
in clouds to their accustomed rest,
and in the racing of the keel

before the racing of the tide,
and in the crowding of dark trees.
I sing the unaccomplished bride.
I sing my death in all of these.

(Originally published in Riding the Pendulum, Oxford University Press, 1973)

For more inspired New Zealand poetry I can highly recommend Poetry Thursday contributors
Catherine and Kay (Chief Biscuit). If I ever quit being so slack and get my blog roll established their's will be two of the first blogs I link to.

And, because it's not quite true that I haven't been writing poetry, here's a poem I posted to my blog on the weekend.

A birthday gift, a poem shared

Leonie finally posed the question I had been avoiding. What did I want to do for my birthday? The real answer to that was 'go adventuring'. I wanted us all to spend a day somewhere like Kapiti Island, or perhaps Mt Bruce. I wanted us to go somewhere outdoors and get away from our urban lives for a few hours. However I didn't have time to take a day off work, and Nic and Leonie were going to be away both weekends either side of the big day itself.

In the end Nic picked up Chow takeaway, we pulled out the kitchen table, dressed it with a white table cloth, candles and linen table napkins, put on some music and the four of us ate and drank until late in the night.

Oh, and we read poetry. Thanks to Catherine for recommending Essential New Zealand Poems to Leonie, and for recommending in particular the poem I am about to share (thanks too to Leonie for the gift). I have walked, run, cycled and driven the road described on many occasions. On a night where we opened our book of poems at random, where every poem found held particular relevance, and was deeply and meaningfully about us, there, at that moment, this poem took hold of my spine and carried it a few kilometres West, till Leonie's voice carried me spinning down that narrow valley to the sea ...

Instructions for How to Get Ahead of Yourself While the Light Still Shines

If you have a bike, get on it at night
and go to the top of the Brooklyn Hill.

When you reach the top
start smiling - this is Happy Valley Road.

Pedal at first, then let the road take you down
into the dark as black as underground
broken by circles of yellow lowered by the street lights.

As you come to each light
you will notice a figure
racing up behind.
Don't be scared
this is you creeping up on yourself.
As you pass under the light
you will sail past yourself into the night.

(Jenny Bornholdt, originally from Moving House, University Press, 1989)