In the reading room - Poem by Gillian Clarke
You scan the stream, silver-eyed as a heron
searching the surface for what might betray
a halt in the flow, pentameter's delay,
a master's faded words, his lexicon.
Before you, found in an old book
marking a page, a longhand manuscript.
Look, where the knib unloaded ink and dipped
and rose again, leaving a blot on the downstroke,
writing by candlelight in another century,
wind in the chimney, maybe, the pen's small sound.
You write: ‘Anonymous. Date a mystery.
Some words illegible. No signature found.'
Yet the poem sings in your mind from the silent archive
and all the dead words speak, aloud, alive.
Comments about In the reading room by Gillian Clarke
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- TelevisionRoald Dahl
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda