Two poems by Iain Britton

Iain B

 

    from Windows
 

In my head there are several windows, that I do know, but perhaps
it is always the same one, open variously on the parading universe

Samuel Beckett

 

    VII

 

i remember the expanses between winter

the cyclic shifts         the lying
amongst sand dunes & flax fields        i remember

the albums lined up on shelves         my parents love-talk
dissipating into clouds of musical particles

this exposure complicates         it complicates
solutions of immediacy
it complicates love amongst the ruins

the clarity of why a man in the city should be different

from a man in the country         of why i accept the language
of a landscape singing
& this crowded episode on a narrow path

made difficult         by people         more people
why i’ve become the heart of a stranger in my parents’ home

 
 

    IX

 

concrete-plated         the city
scratches its spine         the horns

of hills react

birds         some endangered

some clinging to the night
are lost
to the listening universe
to satellite farms

but others flock & pulse
like musical reeds of light

i water the strawberries
even though there are no strawberries

even though there are no red feathers
left growing on the trees

 
 

Iain Britton

About Iain Britton

Iain is a New Zealand poet and author of several collections of poetry published in the UK and NZ. Recent poems have been published or are forthcoming in Harvard Review, POETRY (Chicago), JACKET2, The New York Times, Poet Lore, Stand, Agenda, Poetry Wales, Long Poem Magazine, New Humanist and The Fortnightly Review. Iain last visited the UK in 2014, where he gave poetry readings in London and Oxford. 'The Intaglio Poems' was published by Hesterglock Press 2017.