This is the place
This, this is the place
the place where I was
and now I come back to;
I was another person, lost, lonely
I return renewed
and alive. Yet also
a wheel turns, returning
and I come back
to myself, still
starting my journey.
Thank God for the long low hedges across vast fields
Irregular roads hemmed by standing waters
Routes of long-lost beaches, creeks, subdued
In layer on layer of tilth and mulch
Thank God for the elegy of wind and sky, trees and
Beach and low-haunched houses fighting
For their breath; for the hulking nuclear station, the
Wartime listening mirrors,200 feet of concrete
Thank God for the peace under the full moon, for
The distant rustle of wave on shingle, the slight
Threat always of inundation, the edgy tempor-
ariness of all of it, all of it,
it is here.
Yes, all here now in wife and home and children
settled and distant; and also all probationary,
held by faith in debt unpaid and jobs insecure. But –
it is here.
This, this is his place
the place where he always was
but I never knew him
he was always the same
carrying renewal
and life. Yet also
he turned onto himself
and found death
a place of purpose
starting our journey.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem