They gave us the room next to Hemingway\u2019s:
\nthe hotel\u2019s best view \u2014
\nharbour, fortress, green wooded slopes
\nright opposite our rusted balcony.
\nStill we\u2019d drag the shutters closed at noon,
\nstruggling to twist the eggshaped handle
\nthat kept them locked and stopped the wind
\nbanging them on the frames. And then we\u2019d sleep,
\nheat-dazed, on the hard dishevelled bed.
\nWe banked our energies for nighttime dancing.
\nOne day we took that other door, to see
\nhis black typewriter like an upturned beetle
\nstiff on the wooden table, with some letters,
\nhis yellowed hotel bill, photographs,
\ncigar boxes. Going down to the lobby
\nthe liftman said his Christian name was Stalin.
\n\u2018Like the Russian comandante?\u2019 I asked him.
\n\u2018Yes,\u2019 he replied proudly, \u2018a great man!\u2019
\nThe policewoman outside had an automatic rifle
\nand a rose in her hair. Black lacy tights with seams.
\nI listened for tapping at nights in the next room
\nor footsteps on the landing but probably never heard them.
\nThough one morning after a two days\u2019 storm
\na rainbow coalesced, its foot just touching
\nthe white stone Christ on the ridge beyond the harbour.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The surgeon swings, a spider on his thread
\nacross the oak. The chainsaw glints and sings
\narm\u2019s length as he reaches for a bough,<\/p>\n
dark on the sun, to slide his gleaming scalpel
\nthrough the first limb. It totters, shedding spray,
\ndropping askew into encroaching shadows.<\/p>\n
The land stares nighttime in the face. The sun\u2019s
\na crescent glaring through a haze of cloud.
\nThe saw growls restless as the birds fall silent.<\/p>\n
The tree\u2019s a map of veins and he\u2019s a clot
\ndark at the centre. It\u2019s an outstretched hand
\nwhere he strolls, twisting, round a finger\u2019s base<\/p>\n
to stroke it, gently as you\u2019d comb your hair,
\nand leaves a disc of golden wood to blaze
\nnaked against the dark rind of the trunk.<\/p>\n
Sun and moon will go their separate ways,
\nthe tree recover and proliferate.
\nWe\u2019ll burn the logs. The surgeon will be back.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u2026 poured a libation all around to the dead, first of milk and honey, then of sweet wine, thirdly of water, sprinkled with white barley meal.<\/em> \u2013 Odyssey XI. 26-8, tr. Kline<\/p>\n Skirting the windblown lake, I climb the path One day, I tell myself again, I\u2019ll be here REMEMBERING THE AMBOS MUNDOS They gave us the room next to Hemingway\u2019s: the hotel\u2019s best view \u2014 harbour, fortress, green wooded slopes right opposite our rusted balcony. Still we\u2019d drag the shutters closed at noon, struggling to twist the eggshaped handle that kept them locked and stopped the wind banging them on the frames. And […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":302,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[379,380],"tags":[388],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\n
\nup to the Badger Bar, and watch my pint
\nsettle to barley-gold, a head like seafoam.
\nImages converge, half-summoned. Meeting them
\nhere one spring day. We had no children yet,
\nbut watched their boys racket around the bar
\nand listened while Seamus read Fungus the Bogeyman<\/em>
\nto the small girl wriggling on his knee.
\nMarie had on that necklace with the silver
\npendant: it was a longship silhouette,
\nwe recognised it from the cover of North<\/em>.
\nWhat did we talk about? I can\u2019t remember.<\/p>\n
\nat twilight when the landlord goes out back
\nto put down food inside that ring of stones
\nin the pub garden: see the badgers come
\ndown the rocks, or through the undergrowth
\nfrom Rydal Mount next door. A whole tribe maybe,
\nold Brock in front, wading through the shadows;
\nstripes of moonlight white along his head,
\nbody bulky as an old tweed coat \u2013
\njust visible across the stony ground
\nfor eyes enough accustomed to the dark.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"