Saturday, March 2, 2013

Everyday Occultist





How often I have tried to study you
In those recalcitrant unresponsive mornings
When the sullen mid-winter light aroused you
Yawning its enormous sleepy jaws towards us
How often I have tried to study you
In the constant hell-like hum of low distant traffic
Growing louder, glistening iridescently through
The frost of a million deserted city parks
Childless as the doves taking flight beyond us
How often I have tried to study you
In the baroque dust of a gallery’s marked out room
With the worm eaten skulls of a dour old master
Beckoning its miraculous insubstantial presence at us
How often I have tried to study you
Along all those respectable, secertive, wood plain lanes
In the west London of another era, mansion after Victorian
Mansion with cold granite cellars reaching up for us
How often I have tried to study you
Through the vacuous eyelids of the Piccadilly crowd
Uncoiling your working skin like a somnambulist
Yearning to be struck by Antero’s light, hoping to inflame us
How often I have tried to study you
In the polished up shop window’s and mirrors of Regent’s street
Among the multitudes of shadows, reflections and voices
With cares both worldly and otherwise somehow greeting us
How often I have tried to study you
While taking refuge in Saint Pauls like that lost sheep
Seeking to cloth himself in the silence of an immaculate bell-jar
Searching for solace in the, candles glow, still reaching us?
How often I have tried to study you
With the concentrated dedication of a pavement artist
Reproducing miraculous life from the water and wine
Of an imagination smiling enigmatically back at us
How often I have tried to study you
In the uncommon wonder of reading deceased books,
Rubbing my fingers like a palaeontologist, touching the spine
Of a fossil with the vain hope that knowledge still teaches us
And how often I have tried to study you
But failed to notice you were always to be hidden
You were the absence, the blank page, the unheard melody
A visible darkness in the supposed inertness, trying to release us.