After Dransfield
The night, cool green,
The night, cool green,
tastes of air.
The sea moves beneath;
waves wind and tide coordinate.
Sniff the bougainvillea:
the South Pacific,
the purple islands.
A cloud ... a beach....
Something about wine –
and already the stones
of court and temple
different, mourning.
At dVerse Poetics – Covers we are asked to do a 'cover' of someone else's poem, using their words but in some way making them one's own. I wanted to pay tribute to Michael Dransfield, but it was hard – his poems are all so perfect just as they are. In the end I decided on an erasure poem taken from my favourite, 'Patricia's Raga', using part of its subtitle as my title. (And I slightly changed the last word.) It still feels rather sacrilegious! But I hope it leads you to the hauntingly beautiful original.
