Thursday, 26 May 2011

mervyn peake

Is there no love can link us?

Is there no thread to bind us – I and he
Who is dying now, this instant as I write
And may be cold before this line’s complete?

Is there no power to link us – I and she
Across whose body the loud roof is falling?

Or the child whose blackening skin
Blossoms with hideous roses in the smoke?

Is there no love can link us- I and they?
Only this hectic moment? This fierce instant
Striking now
Its universal, its uneven blow?

There is no other link. Only this sliding
Second we share: this desperate edge of now


Dick Jones said...

Poor Maeve. Anticipated bereavement captured poignantly and powerfully here.

swiss said...

i'm just after a bit of gormenghasting and had the thought that i hadn't actually read any of his poetry

Dick Jones said...

The one to track down is 'The Rhyme Of The Flying Bomb'.

You've probably run across this site already.