page 13

pipedreams in ponsonby

poems by David Mitchell

David Mitchell. 31 or 32. 'all th poems in this book have been read aloud in public. A mirror to convey her vanities.

A capnbells laugh at the human of follies.
'below th house a resty plateau
of ponsonby rooftops & chimneypots'.
A sealing strip to hide the shun of sordidness of man.

'She
has marvelled; still; th clear bright signs
that visit with th steady voice their own dread
stealth & omen truth; (th twins of time & pain)
against th dreamers & th dream; of love; of
peace; of youth...'

The fine and devilish ritual of life; the glare of rough lights in a yellow wayside room; calm and waiting in a notebook of fragments; dreams; cold pining arms

&
then, he
feels her slow foot
on th naked stair
[unclear: and]
& he
hears again, th small
cough in th hall
& turns
below
it all
again'

Laugh again, deep, naked, from the depths of a dark river

'my name is yorick
& th worm
is in me...'

Mitchell sings blues, dreams pathetic melodies, cuts in with a ballad, misses a beat, grunts 'yeah', translates the words of his dreams into silences, memories, (Mitchell-2)

'as he who
would some kind
of wisdom seek
as that just folding of th eye
& closing of th breath
opens
also
th heart'.