Enough with the me-me-me already. The other day, out of the blue, Donald Davie's Selected Poems
turned up on the trunk at the foot of my bed -- that is, being a book I've owned since 1986, when I took Mark Jarman's Auden and After contemporary-poetry class at Vanderbilt, it didn't come truly and utterly out of the blue, but off some shelf in my house. Still, I hadn't picked it up in ages, and clearly it wanted to be picked up.And here's the poem which wanted to be read:
House Martin
I see the low black wherry
Under the alders rock,
As the ferryman strides from his ferry,
And his child in its black frock
Into his powerful shadow
And out of it, skirmishing, passes
Time and again as they go
Up through the tall lush grasses.
The light of the evening grieves
For the stout house of a father,
With martins under its eaves,
That cracks and sags in the weather.
Poetry Friday this week meets at a wrung sponge. Go there for more.
6 comments:
What a nice poem. I like the variety in all the lines, and the way the picture builds, almost like a short film that uses many camera angles. I will take a look at his other poetry. Thanks, Sally.
I had two classes and a self-study course with Dr. Davie. The classes were a joy and a revelation. The one conversation I recall from the self-study (and I admit that recollection is a fickle thing) came after he had read what I considered one of my better academic efforts. "Well," he said, "I suppose one must walk before one can run. And," he continued, "one must crawl before one can walk." After a pause, "But, really, Mr. Mook, this pulling one's self along by one's lips will never do."
Steve -- I missed having a class with Dr. Davie, though he made a guest appearance in "Auden and After" -- also a class that was a joy and a revelation (the whole thing, not just the Davie visit).
And, heh. People seem to say things like that to you, don't they . . .
Toby -- thanks very much for stopping in. Davie's whole body of work is pretty remarkable, but for some reason, and I really can't articulate it (especially before coffee), that one just stopped me dead.
They do seem to say things like that, but seldom as succinctly. Economy is the soul of poetry, is it not?
Indeed, sir.
How about that. Never heard of that guy! I do like this. Thanks for sharing. It's beautifully visual.
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