In The Poetry » Bill Manhire

Wulf

admin — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 10:33:29 +0000

This is a poem called ‘Wulf’, which is in fact a loose translation of an Anglo-Saxon poem, and the speaker in it is a woman

Wulf

1
They take it from me:
in the manner
of a gift

if danger moves in the earth
is the life given
is it love between us

2
Wulf: on that island
- I on this other

shut into fens, a bone
in the neck of a savage

if danger moves upon water
is the life given
is it love between us

3
In my mind we joined together:

as it rained, as
I was sad in the rain, as
he laid with me in his arms

into his shoulder
a joy given into me like sorrow

4
Wulf, Wulf,
it is not
at all hunger shaking my limbs
but that you do not journey

absent & yet
you fill me

5
They take it from me:
in the manner
of a gift

the spine of a feather, a cloud in the body

ai, it is
easily broken, what

was never at one:

you & I, Wulf, the one
with the other

& singing

The Polar Explorer’s Love Song

admin — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 01:06:55 +0000

I had the good fortune to visit Antarctica some years ago, and I wrote one or two poems down there. I imagined, for example, a polar explorer dying of hypothermia, and then it occurred to me that ‘hypothermia’ sounded like the name of a Greek goddess, so I wrote this poem.

The Polar Explorer’s Love Song

The goddess Hypothermia
came and held me tight
and as we kissed we drifted
in the pale, pure light.

Antarctica was in her heart
and ice lay on her breast;
she was the warmest lover
and the best.

She made the glaciers advance,
she made the ice shelf shine,
she made the skua bird take flight
above her love and mine.

Hotel Emergencies

admin — Tue, 29 Nov 2011 01:10:59 +0000

In 2004 I stayed in a hotel in Copenhagen for a weekend, and the emergency sign on the wall – in almost-perfect English – went, “The fire alarm sound – colon – is given as a howling sound. Do not use the lifts.” and I wrote this down thinking it was faintly amusing, and that I might do something with it. And then I wrote a poem which took a different direction entirely.

Hotel Emergencies

The fire alarm sound: is given as a howling sound. Do not use the lifts. The optimism sound: is given as the sound of a man brushing his teeth. Do not go to bed. The respectability sound: is given as a familiar honking sound. Do not run, do not sing. The dearly-departed sound: is given as a rumble in the bones. Do not enter the coffin. The afterlife sound: is given as the music of the spheres. It will not reconstruct. The bordello sound: is given as a small child screaming. Do not turn on the light. The accident sound: is given as an ambulance sound. You can hear it coming closer, do not crowd the footpaths. The execution sound: is given as the sound of prayer. Oh be caution, do not stand too near

or you will surely hear: the machinegun sound, the weeping mother sound, the agony sound, the dying child sound: whose voice is already drowned by the approaching helicopter sound: which is given as the dead flower sound, the warlord sound, the hunting and fleeing and clattering sound, the amputation sound, the bloodbath sound, the sound of the President quietly addressing his dinner; now he places his knife and fork together (a polite and tidy sound) before addressing the nation

and making a just and necessary war sound: which is given as a freedom sound (do not cherish memory): which is given as a security sound: which is given as a prisoner sound: which is given again as a war sound: which is a torture sound and a watchtower sound and a firing sound: which is given as a Timor sound: which is given as a decapitation sound (do not think you will not gasp tomorrow): which is given as a Darfur sound: which is given as a Dachau sound: which is given as a dry river-bed sound, as a wind in the poplars sound: which is given again as an angry god sound:

which is here as a Muslim sound: which is here as a Christian sound: which is here as a Jewish sound: which is here as a merciful god sound: which is here as a praying sound: which is here as a kneeling sound: which is here as a scripture sound: which is here as a black-wing sound: as a dark-cloud sound: as a black-ash sound: which is given as a howling sound: which is given as a fire alarm sound:

which is given late at night, calling you from your bed (do not use the lifts): which is given as a burning sound, no, as a human sound, as a heartbeat sound: which is given as a sound beyond sound: which is given as the sound of many weeping: which is given as an entirely familiar sound, a sound like no other, up there high in the smoke above the stars.

Love Poem

admin — Fri, 21 Oct 2011 02:23:53 +0000

This is the first poem in my very first book, and it’s called ‘Love Poem’.

There is no question
of choice, but it takes
a long time.

Love’s vacancies, the eye
& cavity, track
back to embraces

where the spine bends
& quietens
like smoke in the earth.

Your tongue, touching on song,
darkens all songs. Your touch
is almost a signature.

Wulf

admin — Tue, 10 May 2011 14:30:10 +0000

This is a poem called ‘Wulf’, which is in fact a loose translation of an Anglo-Saxon poem, and the speaker in it is a woman

Wulf

1
They take it from me:
in the manner
of a gift

if danger moves in the earth
is the life given
is it love between us

2
Wulf: on that island
- I on this other

shut into fens, a bone
in the neck of a savage

if danger moves upon water
is the life given
is it love between us

3
In my mind we joined together:

as it rained, as
I was sad in the rain, as
he laid with me in his arms

into his shoulder
a joy given into me like sorrow

4
Wulf, Wulf,
it is not
at all hunger shaking my limbs
but that you do not journey

absent & yet
you fill me

5
They take it from me:
in the manner
of a gift

the spine of a feather, a cloud in the body

ai, it is
easily broken, what

was never at one:

you & I, Wulf, the one
with the other

& singing

The Polar Explorer’s Love Song

admin — Sat, 18 Dec 2010 00:11:33 +0000

The Polar Explorer’s Love Song

The goddess Hypothermia
came and held me tight
and as we kissed we drifted
in the pale, pure light.

Antarctica was in her heart
and ice lay on her breast;
she was the warmest lover
and the best.

She made the glaciers advance,
she made the ice shelf shine,
she made the skua bird take flight
above her love and mine.

Hotel Emergencies

admin — Sat, 06 Nov 2010 03:08:15 +0000

Hotel Emergencies

Death of a Poet

admin — Tue, 02 Feb 2010 03:18:36 +0000

‘Manhire’ is originally a Cornish name, and I knew the Cornish poet Charles Causley quite well, and when he died I wrote this little poem in his memory. He lived on a street called Cyprus Well in Launceston.

Death of a Poet

Between the Tamar and the tarmac,
Beneath a tangled sky
I saw the Cornish poet
Walking by.

He went where wind and water
Will not be overthrown
Where light and water meet
Boscastle stone.

It was a day in deep November
When the cold came.
The cold sky squandered
Inside his brain.

Who knocks at Cyprus Well?
Who knocks again, again?
‘I think it is the visitor
We must not name.’

Oh men who fish are fishing
And men of tin are gone
Yet men will walk on Bodmin
And hear his song.

The great world makes its changes
And yet remains the same;
And poets’ verses will unwind
The tangle in the brain.

Love Poem

admin — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 00:05:28 +0000

This is the first poem in my very first book, and it’s called ‘Love Poem’.

There is no question
of choice, but it takes
a long time.

Love’s vacancies, the eye
& cavity, track
back to embraces

where the spine bends
& quietens
like smoke in the earth.

Your tongue, touching on song,
darkens all songs. Your touch
is almost a signature.