Thursday, April 26, 2012
Peripatetic teachers, sophists and advocates, and lone scholars in wildernesses, private studies, prison cells, asylums, academies, monasteries, observatories, laboratories, hospitals and even naval vessels; scribes, learned judges, lettered persons and courtiers of renowned cities; calligraphers, illuminators of manuscripts, curators of scrolls and codices; translators and interpreters; governesses and tutors in private households, the hirelings of princes, senators, lords and ladies and gentlemen of quality; the parlours and taverns, and the guilds of alchemists and apothecaries, priests, astronomers, physicians and surgeons, masons and military engineers; schools and studios of artists, illustrators and engravers; printing presses and binderies, and all editors and publishers of inky periodicals, journals and newspapers, dictionaries, treatises, pamphlets, romances, novels and collections of verse; salons, coffee-houses and bookshops; libraries, galleries and museums, private and public; zoological and botanical gardens; not to mention the underground of doubters, atheists, heretics, apostates, dissenters and revolutionary vanguards; and parliaments, conservatories, theatres, gymnasia, auditoria, archives, servers, and the diverse faculties of universities. Ten times six years could not suffice to hear them.
Grant Duncan
21 April 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
A forest of swaying trees
A forest of swaying trees
leading the eye down to a shore
of threatening sea
swollen and given up to winds
and currents and the saline influences
that uphold the clouds in unbelievable motion
that one day could lift the opening off of time
display the working of our buildings
and make us say or scream
what lies or overblown proverbs fill up
this atmosphere that will not settle
that no storm can clean
Grant Duncan, 15.1.12
leading the eye down to a shore
of threatening sea
swollen and given up to winds
and currents and the saline influences
that uphold the clouds in unbelievable motion
that one day could lift the opening off of time
display the working of our buildings
and make us say or scream
what lies or overblown proverbs fill up
this atmosphere that will not settle
that no storm can clean
Grant Duncan, 15.1.12
Someone called You
I’d call this distemper
that growls and wrangles on the line
almost canine
And I’m tied up all day
from unspeakable eye opening
until the silent light goes out
And you asked me my secret
so you wouldn’t have to know it
or to see what I do
Stirring words
Running the treadmill
Charming flavours
No need to call
Just inquire inside
and finger the words
They shiver shine and run
So call them up again
and stalk them in the streets
Loiter outside shops
until chance bumps and jumps a track
and labouring metaphors
shuttle jauntily down hills
people settle for trying on
something new
pay up
and wander off
almost forgetting that someone
called You
Grant Duncan, 18.12.11
that growls and wrangles on the line
almost canine
And I’m tied up all day
from unspeakable eye opening
until the silent light goes out
And you asked me my secret
so you wouldn’t have to know it
or to see what I do
Stirring words
Running the treadmill
Charming flavours
No need to call
Just inquire inside
and finger the words
They shiver shine and run
So call them up again
and stalk them in the streets
Loiter outside shops
until chance bumps and jumps a track
and labouring metaphors
shuttle jauntily down hills
people settle for trying on
something new
pay up
and wander off
almost forgetting that someone
called You
Grant Duncan, 18.12.11
Monday, December 12, 2011
Viaduct
Was it worth this
data in the wind?
We saw who counts
and were counted in our turn
to each one weight
as weighing’s all that matters
So gather up down there
Cry for all you’re worth
The trawlers don’t dock here anymore
The old produce hall’s been transformed
And a buzz of souls beckons
from the city that sleeps
to the city that wakes
till all that remains
between us
is data in the wind
Grant Duncan, 9.12.11
data in the wind?
We saw who counts
and were counted in our turn
to each one weight
as weighing’s all that matters
So gather up down there
Cry for all you’re worth
The trawlers don’t dock here anymore
The old produce hall’s been transformed
And a buzz of souls beckons
from the city that sleeps
to the city that wakes
till all that remains
between us
is data in the wind
Grant Duncan, 9.12.11
Monday, February 28, 2011
Lucky People
Knowing we were not there
and missed what happened
is the one thing we really share
All of those rooms that
neither of us ever occupied
and the acquaintances we have not made
are the figures making it possible
to live together
And there always was a fertile time
once when conversations overflowed
untrapped from the body of words
when pictures drew whole flourishes
when someone’s touch promised more glow
than you could get in the palm of your hand
Grant Duncan 27.02.11
and missed what happened
is the one thing we really share
All of those rooms that
neither of us ever occupied
and the acquaintances we have not made
are the figures making it possible
to live together
And there always was a fertile time
once when conversations overflowed
untrapped from the body of words
when pictures drew whole flourishes
when someone’s touch promised more glow
than you could get in the palm of your hand
Grant Duncan 27.02.11
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
The birth of pain
the hunter fallen and
the woman at labour
cried their hurts
in waves
but felt their pains
so differently
being impersonal
only to be suffered
like blows
from a careless god
whose dark face
saw also
that dogs
should copulate
Grant Duncan 18.10.10
the woman at labour
cried their hurts
in waves
but felt their pains
so differently
being impersonal
only to be suffered
like blows
from a careless god
whose dark face
saw also
that dogs
should copulate
Grant Duncan 18.10.10
Saturday, August 21, 2010
That's her
I asked no-one
to point at me and say
That’s him
That’s the poet
But you are different
You walk right through me
from time to time
And if I hear your footsteps
your handmaidens
are never far behind
on the strand with
sea-breezes in their faces
or by that fountain
where anyone can be inconspicuous
or looking like a mother of two from Howick
at a buffet-breakfast
or supple limbs pulling her through
the clear blue of a swimming pool
They trade upon their special blend
of insecurity and seduction
a touch on the arm
an ambiguous diamond ring
and stories about the father of a child
or one who might father more
in a future that circles gaily
like a merry-go-round
So I sometimes hear your footsteps
as you pass on through
getting lighter and lighter
and further and further on
Grant Duncan 7.8.10
to point at me and say
That’s him
That’s the poet
But you are different
You walk right through me
from time to time
And if I hear your footsteps
your handmaidens
are never far behind
on the strand with
sea-breezes in their faces
or by that fountain
where anyone can be inconspicuous
or looking like a mother of two from Howick
at a buffet-breakfast
or supple limbs pulling her through
the clear blue of a swimming pool
They trade upon their special blend
of insecurity and seduction
a touch on the arm
an ambiguous diamond ring
and stories about the father of a child
or one who might father more
in a future that circles gaily
like a merry-go-round
So I sometimes hear your footsteps
as you pass on through
getting lighter and lighter
and further and further on
Grant Duncan 7.8.10

