When he was presented with Goethe prize
he said that the unconscious
predated his work,
in poetry.
...
We write in shadows lit by the moon,
Through the trees ancestors whisper,
in dreams, to free spirits.
outline of hills, spring trees,
...
Over to the right,
through the wood oak doors,
the crib is set,
star, shepherds and wise
...
The timing is made by us, mere mortals,
we like to label things-
hours, days, years,
with Chronos.
...
(written on the Feast of The Holy Name)
God asked man to name each,
one by one-
...
It starts now, at half past five,
a note, repeated, by chance its heard
out of silence of the mornings hollow
place of night drawn back,
...
Is that the grim reaper that I see,
below, in the far field,
resting with scythe and whetstone,
resting with indecision.
...
Mertonian can mean silence
and hermitage, and hermit like
trust, in,
waiting, knowing we are carried
...
At a wave of his hand, with his eye on the traffic,
Underneath his yellow helmet head,
the bulldozer, lifting its beak
Came down upon the old Manse gate,
...
They sat at table,
as before.
All adult now.
Engaged with laptops,
...