The below poem is taken from John Fuller’s new, semi-autobiographical collection of poetry, Asleep & Awake, recently published by Chatto & Windus.
At Waverley, at Waverley, Although I didn’t show it, I knew a certain thing that Needed knowing, At Waverley. A resolve in the heart Deeper than any words, An unexpected reward After some time apart, At Waverley. Beneath that iron edifice And its dulled reverberation of voices Your lips reached up to mine With a fresh Scottish kiss, At Waverley, at Waverley. I had come to stay with your sister In Scott’s metropolis, And you were just like yourself When you met me with a kiss At Waverley, at Waverley. Greeting you there, after empty weeks at home When your existence seemed a fabulous rumour, I was restored to a possession of myself Of which you were an indissoluble part. I had thought that my life would never begin. But there you were, and no thought of an ending, Like a landscape bathed in light, where legends start, Like a won position at chess, that needs no defending. You put your arm in mine at Waverley And I was willingly led out of the concourse Into our resumed and now entirely certain life Whose truth possessed me with a renewed force At Waverley, at Waverley. The name was strange—Waverley, So appropriate for a railway station With its moods of hesitation and goodbye, But inappropriate for me When for once, and at once, and for all time, With a kiss that was both a reminder and a promise, A perfect fresh kiss that could never lie, I knew that I would never say goodbye.