Eva Bourke Poems

Wo Licht ist, ist Werden.
Schelling

The oak panel leaning on the easel faces away from view -
a tilted upper case Alpha. As always
...

with apologies to Montale

Gales that played wild and loose all night
with rubbish in the street and flung plastic
forks like confetti round the garden have died
...

According to Lichtenberg
only very few people have ever seen a pure white.
L.Wittgenstein
...

What's beneath the chemicals - gold
chloride, gum Arabic - the gloss,
the yellowish cardboard mount on which
the signature is scrawled?
...

If I had one wish it would be
to have been born two or three
hundred years earlier in Japan.
...

At the station, newspapers, hot
coffees, the metallic smell of departure, the larks
strike their notes, glitzy
overtones from on high after night rain.
...

In the Trans-Alpine struggling uphill to Brennero
our compartment door kept sliding open
and shut again with a small click: the day outside
had trained its wide-angle lens on us.
...

The train made strides on fiery tracks.
Second stop: a melancholy Woodlawn
weeping birches
the sombre organization of spruce.
...

of water and paints a winding road by the sea
a blue-slated house with a narrow green
stair case and a window sill on which two apples
and three oranges lavish
...

'...deeper than did ever plummet sound//
I'll drown my book.'
Prospero in The Tempest. Shakespeare
Act V Scene 1
...