Martin TURNER Poems
|2.||Escape From Venice||3/31/2007|
|5.||Fragments From Before The Gaze Of Alphabet||9/20/2008|
|6.||Phoenix Museum Of History||9/26/2004|
|8.||Lines For Alexander Blok||6/23/2008|
|9.||Tankas For The Memory||6/16/2008|
|11.||Dreaming Of The Dead||2/21/2006|
|13.||This Daughterless Night||6/23/2008|
|15.||A Kick Of Light||9/26/2004|
Comments about Martin TURNER
It’s all very well for you,
straight as a canoe or arrow,
to leap from your speeding bicycle into the air –
to follow a new vector in a thin medium;
but for us who could hardly bear
to greet or regard your so-stable coffin
only a few feet from where you should be sitting,
life, always a strain, is now more so,
a wending through the motions
of serving trays to the elderly,
walking a small dog, or otherwise
having our lives bent unwillingly towards others.
Forty-seven years ago you landed,
cocky, abrasive and eight years old
in our class ...
Dreaming Of The Dead
From time to time the dead come
for their allotted meeting like prisoners,
jostling, and sit on the bench to wait.
The hands of the carver
recognise each face.
My father is among them.
To him I go first, assuring him
that he is always first for me,
as if he needed