Certainly I blame the Tiber
I wandered through its water archaeologies
I squandered my time on afternoon light
I was there to anticipate
One glass of an extraordinary wine
I had no idea at all
My name was on the ‘Programme’
Who would have placed it there?
I had no time to prepare you see
And with no book to hand…
But Suddenly – “You’re on!”
That kind of Poetry Reading
More suited to the stage
You can hear in their tone
Of hush when an audience
‘Turns’ becoming impatient –
‘Listen to me’ – I hastened to say
‘There is no such poem
As ‘The River’ in my ‘Roma’!
But you know how it is –
That’s all they want
Something that doesn’t exist!
Should their ‘Orpheus’ fail to provide
They feel righteously obliged
To ‘take him apart’ outside –
Some folk are fickle
I mean ‘the modern world’
The whole disjointed
Dionysian Clan
Rigorously entertained to death
A fortunate thought occurred
‘I follow Apollo’ –
He allowed me of that instant
To become a flowing river…
Saved again!
And should the river dream
My self who dreams a river
Or if it be that all in essence is a dream
Apollo may include
My transient illusion
Within his neo-realist compassion
Including an Italian
Compassion for ephemeral human action
That I may be drunk by the river
As I am drinking it now –
A deep-space stream of stars
Beyond the river of time and water
I drink it with my sweet sixteen
Daily pills to dally with –
Pills prescribed to dally and to douse my daily ills
Dilly dally mystery of ageing happy ills
This is an extraordinary wine
.
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Bernard Saint
Illustration: Claire Palmer
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