Three poems from 1996

John Grover


The wooden cover, as a shell,
creaks on hinges, and I peel
golden pollen from the well,
from its dusty water shield.

Such beer of heart rests in my lap.
The sandals which my young feet wear
work the dust with leathern straps.
My boyish heart drinks the air.


The night when I was carrying my soul,
assisting the cook to shape my name,
I helped an eagle out of a kitchen bowl
the smith had wrought to cast my shame.

I opened up the window for the fleeing bird
and went to bed and drank a glass of milk.
The beating eagle in the garden heard
the Lord arriving in his slushy silk.


In the autumn dark, my days grow shorter.
In the white river, I wash at night.
My shirt breathes in the silent water,
in its blue and stone mausoleum of light.

The shirt is the tent of my soul.
A single half-moon writes in the river
as I wash the meanings out. In the cold
and stony water, my white shirt shivers.

I sent these three poems (with a literary form I had made myself) to the literary magazine ORBIS in 1996. It was returned with a standard formula from then editor Mike Shields. I did not discover before I found the envelope again (on probably 29 april before I scanned it early 30 april 2020) that the first poem - with a sort of 'emotional sensation' when pulling the paper out of the envelope - resembled the editor's name. Here is the paper print from 1996 - they were originally on three paper sheets. The second and third poem are reproduced in my vol.3 (in the above form). For the first, see also the 'Pugel u. Pollenlager'. I forgot also some poetry notebooks in 'Barnabitenkirche' in the summer 2019 - when that gyro plaything was en vogue. See also The falling cliff of Beachy Head.

John Bjarne Grover
On the web 3 may 2020