Cambridge
Peter Carpenter
‘radiant with bovine life’ (E.M. Forster)
‘It’s raining but I don’t believe it’s raining’ (G.E. Moore)
i
Docks, nettles, self-sown
sycamores, willows
thunderstruck by their own
brilliance, sap-boiled,
boughs gone scissor-handed.
The cow is there, now.
Do not move suddenly
or she’ll scare.
Scrutinise the lining
of flies. First thistles
then she tongues down a slip
of overhanging willow.
She is there.
~
A woman sleeps rough
by the chained punts, money-spiders
criss-crossing her back.
~
Attempting steps down
from Fellows’ Court,
the poet, grand old man,
white-haired with stick.
~
The living image of my mother
whispers to her companion:
‘I like walking full stop.’
High summer’s over.
The great elms motionless,
yellow blotches on their leaves.
I’m there – in the meadow –
I have proved it to myself.
The Voyage: Edited by Chandani Lokuge & David Morley Page 8
