{"id":4276,"date":"2014-12-07T23:15:35","date_gmt":"2014-12-07T23:15:35","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=4276"},"modified":"2014-12-07T23:16:56","modified_gmt":"2014-12-07T23:16:56","slug":"two-poems-14","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=4276","title":{"rendered":"Two Poems"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><em><strong>Rouen<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n<p>The sky is milk<br \/>\nin a late Corot at the Beaux Arts.<br \/>\nKhaki and mustard reeds<br \/>\nfringe a cackling stream.<br \/>\nA peasant with a basket in her arms<br \/>\nwalks out of wetlands that part for her.<br \/>\nWhen the sun comes out,<br \/>\nthe volume of the crowd appears to rise<br \/>\nas if light were sounded.<br \/>\nIt scours the stone,<br \/>\nladders netting, peels and blisters<br \/>\npaint, in archeological strata,<br \/>\nfrom turn-of-the-century window frames.<br \/>\nThe dimness of the glass museum prevents<br \/>\na concatenation of refractions<br \/>\nfrom leaching the corals and turquoises<br \/>\nof goblets and trays,<br \/>\nthe green cast of vitrines, into the yard,<br \/>\ncontaminating greenery.<\/p>\n<p>*<\/p>\n<p>High-rise blocks<br \/>\nof honeycombed sixties gothic<br \/>\ncongregate in the outermost<br \/>\n<em>arrondissements<\/em>. Listen.<br \/>\nthe age of the railway rumbling<br \/>\nunder the hiss of the intercity. At Croisset,<br \/>\ndead-end couplings. A garden house vitrine<br \/>\nof manuscript, pipe, pince-nez,<br \/>\nsnuff tin, slipper, a thimbleful<br \/>\nof lapis lazuli. Or none<br \/>\nof these. One of the bonhomous, faintly<br \/>\nintolerant letters to Louise Colet.<br \/>\nSquares of coloured light reconfigure<br \/>\nas the towers communicate<br \/>\namongst themselves. The lawn is brilliant<br \/>\nbut dimensionless as you turn<br \/>\nfrom a painting to an open doorway.<br \/>\nThe sky clears as we dock. Don\u2019t wave.<br \/>\nBegin again.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><!--nextpage--><br \/>\n<em><strong>Jubilee<\/strong><br \/>\n<\/em><\/p>\n<p>A summer of loosening threads,<br \/>\ncommemorative mugs,<br \/>\nand a fox that stalked the cabbage patch,<br \/>\nthe running track,<br \/>\ndissembling its size at will.<br \/>\nThe sun swooped once, twice,<br \/>\nand was off,<br \/>\nwhittling blades of grass,<br \/>\npooling in the collar<br \/>\nof a barrel-chested, cleft-chinned boy<br \/>\nwho got the girl and lost her<br \/>\nwhile the folks who lived on the hill<br \/>\nveered into a solipsism<br \/>\nthey had foresworn. The biding spider<br \/>\nshould never have migrated<br \/>\nfrom its tongue-and-groove niche<br \/>\nto the brittle copse that beckoned it<br \/>\nbut left no footfall unflushed,<br \/>\nall privacy exposed<br \/>\nby dropladders of dust<br \/>\nraying through gloom beneath the leaves.<br \/>\nBirds and bees hover-climbed,<br \/>\nrung by rung,<br \/>\nshredding webs, daisy chains,<br \/>\nand other sacraments,<br \/>\nwhich, as it was September,<br \/>\nwould not be rewoven until next year.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Rouen The sky is milk in a late Corot at the Beaux Arts. Khaki and mustard reeds fringe a cackling stream. A peasant with a basket in her arms walks out of wetlands that part for her. When the sun comes out, the volume of the crowd appears to rise as if light were sounded. [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":105,"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":[312,315],"tags":[],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v20.2.1 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>Two Poems - The Manchester Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=4276\" \/>\n<link rel=\"next\" href=\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=4276&page=2\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Two Poems - The Manchester Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Rouen The sky is milk in a late Corot at the Beaux Arts. Khaki and mustard reeds fringe a cackling stream. A peasant with a basket in her arms walks out of wetlands that part for her. When the sun comes out, the volume of the crowd appears to rise as if light were sounded. 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