Small Clouds

on the way to the house
and under every isolated oak
 
by this bridleway
this narrow lane
 
gnats and midges dance
smoke in a bell jar
 
              *
 
these fields ploughed
and harrowed
 
low morning sun
cups hollows    abrades
 
your old house is
made visible    walls doors
 
and a circle for the well –
bruises we’ll know you by
 
              *
 
when the snow came
I watched it falling
 
under the lamp post
each individual flake
 
a cloud
on the pavement

Janet Sutherland

first published in Poetry Review Vol 100:3, Autumn 2010,
ISBN 978-1-900771-66-5 / ISSN 0032 2156

back to top

 

Assemblage des Beautés

Bone monkey has set up shop in the airing cupboard.
It’s warm in there. Silverfish take refuge in his skull
and slide around his ribs. Worn sheets have ruched between
his bones like the petals of old roses – Assemblage des Beautés
for instance – so cherry red and full it almost seems
there is blood again and a heart beating like crazy.

Janet Sutherland

first published in Poetry Review Vol 99:2, Summer 2009;
ISBN 978-1-900771-61-0 / ISSN 0032 2156;
also in collection, Hangman’s Acre, 2009, Shearsman Books,
ISBN 978-1-84861-074-3

back to top

 

Underfoot

all the birds have come to this bancal
on the high path between Sóller and Deia
built stone on stone by Moors a thousand
years ago for olives, oranges and carob
 
in February they are feeding the fires
and flames catch the leaves  and blaze
almost to the arms of the man who
settles the twigs   it could be my father
 
who still makes fire run through things
but here they are re-making the old
cutting and burning the ripe wood
leaving young shoots on gnarled trunks
 
the voice of the chainsaw echoes in
valleys   smoke hangs high and drifts
the terraces are held against the mountain
by the dead and the living   their hands
 
their muscles    the salt of their skin
at dusk the mountains shift to grey
layers of rock are smoke and mist
and the sound of the chainsaw stops
 
just this spade and this pick scraping
making the little difference   and underfoot
the cloudy cyclamen and by the side
the dark leaved aromatic myrtle

Janet Sutherland

first published in Shearsman 77 & 78 Autumn/Winter 2008-2009,
ISBN 978-1-905700-86-8 / ISSN 0260-8049;
also in collection, Hangman’s Acre, 2009, Shearsman Books,
ISBN 978-1-84861-074-3

back to top

 

Suvla Bay, Gallipoli 1915

slipped between the pages
of the minute book
of the Fulmer Society of Bell Ringers
two letters written from the front
 
“ my dear pater, on Friday we will have been five weeks ashore”
 
what remains
 
each page of the book watermarked, an image
of Britannia centre stage, crude cameo
with shield, and trident    rough waves
and thirteen poems, typed, stuck carefully in
 
“ we had a pretty hot strafe on the 21st I was….under heavy fire all day and most of next day”
 
just this
 
others, the limericks, light verse
on scraps tucked in the marbled end papers
whatever came to hand, the coal factors bill
1954        £1 5s 11d
 
“ I went up on top of a hill the other night and started a dressing station….there were lots of snipers”
 
these pieces
 
on the back of form B941/MT the National
Milk Testing Service raw milk regulations 1949
a piece about ermine     and something that caught
the eye in 1924        a page torn out of punch.
 
“ and one of my men went potty with nervous strain – he sat in a corner and could not speak and kept rubbing his hands together”
 
folded
 
“ we are praying for one night’s frost to kill the flies….
they sit on your food as you put it in your mouth
and walk all over your nib as you write….when you remember
where they come from the idea is not very pleasant…
 
“ there is no news, you can’t believe a word you see in the papers”
 
in the dark

Janet Sutherland

first published in Shearsman 69 & 70 Autumn 2006/Winter 2007
ISBN-10 1-905700-02-4 / ISSN 0260-8049;
also in collection, Hangman’s Acre, 2009, Shearsman Books,
ISBN 978-1-84861-074-3

back to top