She and I came wandering there through an empty park,
and we laid our hands on a stone parapet’s
fading life. Before us, across the oily, aubergine dark
of the harbour, we could make out yachts –
beneath an overcast sky, that was mauve underlit,
against a far shore of dark, crumbling bush.
Part of the city, to our left, was fruit shop bright.
After the summer day, a huge, moist hush.
The yachts were far across their empty fields of water.
One, at times, was gently rested like a quill.
They seemed to whisper, slipping amongst each other,
always hovering, as though resolve were ill.
Away off, through the strung Bridge, a sky of mulberry
and orange chiffon. Mauve-grey, each sloven sail –
like nursing sisters in a deep corridor, some melancholy;
or nuns, going to an evening confessional.
What a beautiful poem, with darkness dust, 'beneath an overcast sky' falling upon the harbour the yachts the water; what are the yachts saying 'far across their empty fields of water', resting like a quill; what do they rise to whisper 'slipping amongst each other', what will time write or has time written, across the oily harbour waters of our lives?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Oily Harbour Waters: Our Salient Beating Lives? gathers darkness dust beneath an overcast sky falling upon the harbour the yachts the water; what are the yachts saying far across empty fields of water resting poised like a quill what do they rise to whisper? slipping insights to each other what will time write or has time written across the oily harbour waters of our salient beating lives? Copyright © Terence George Craddock Inspired by the poem 'Harbour Dusk' by Robert Gray. Dedicated to the poet Robert Gray.