FOR NAZIM HIKMET       [Stefanie Bennett]

 

 

No. I won’t talk to the angel. Not yet.

I’m responsible

For lifting the blindfold,

For the sun’s cauterised dart,

For the fountain pen’s fury.

 

He kicked the steeple’s projection

And sat

Cross-legged

In the void he’d discerned

Via a rainbow’s coccyx.

 

Unperturbed, Orion’s belt buckle

Fell, chuckling,

... And cleansed

The sod

From his feet.

 

 

 

THE LAST DAY    [Stefanie Bennett]

 

 

.... After I have conquered some

Of the world’s ills in my fashion.

After I have climber what’s left

Of the parasitical plot and attempted

                               To bring it down.

After the unwanted-wanted posters

Have yellowed and curled so

That my name’s been struck off

The records, the too-public records

And... I’ve greyed a little,

And shrunk a lot,

And my hands have lost

                            Their bitter cures,

Will you, once again, take me in –;

Take me in and not mind

This new stranger

As your lover of old?

 

Once I’ve been pensioned out – yes!

I’m aware that it will happen.

Once it’s known that what seemed

Scholarly and spectacular was no more

                               Than someone held

Hostage by an everyday innocence.

Once I design... the final line

And I’ve nothing left

To do, say, or display -

Will you find it in you to

Forgive the neglect

I shelved for you alone?

Will you

                ... Forget that

I served but one light – ,

And that it was your light?

Will you mind, mind my return

- And keep this

Gypsy poet company?

 

 

 

RESTITUTIONS     [Stefanie Bennett]

 

 

The town-hall clock

Has dropped

Its hands –, it has

A habit

Of doing that.

 

Always –, but

Always,

Repairmen

Mend

... Defeatists.