Sally Evans

Rookie - 20 Points (1942 / London)

On The Early English Poem The Ruin - Poem by Sally Evans

Mile-wide ruin of a city,
ruin of a town,
told tales fragmented,
your lost poet foiled,

his ruined poem
once whole on vellum, torn,
blackened to earth,
shrunk into microfilm.

Bath was the city
that bred bright balladry,
a rumoured recital,
rare fresh-inked flower.

Rime in the mortar,
rime on the broken tiles,
gold on flashing water,
fragment of a world.

Fires, excavations,
puzzle your pathway,
for history existed
even in history.

Poet whose part is past,
wide-eyed wanderer,
ply us with phrases,
your damaged verses

ancient slabs
over springs still known to us,
piped streams
running with language.

Rime on the broken tiles,
lines on the damaged page.
Flare, crumple, char.
Vain, vanish with the Weirds.

2009 [recorded at Chicago Calling Festival 2011]

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, October 6, 2011

Poem Edited: Friday, October 7, 2011


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