V  P  R

Contemporary Poetry and Poetics





Back to this—
going back from what you are
(boss, party hack, elder statesman)
to something else, some sort of breakthrough.
To win people's hearts after all these
years on your own little island,
gulls crying out along your private shore,
the metropolis a formless mass across the water, glare
of neon dancing on the waves.  A dozen clouds,
electric in the sunset.  Hills
kneeling down before you.

To find at last—after the storms
of doctrine—that you can talk to someone,
discuss a book, a film.  Bandy about aesthetics
and sentiment without looking over your shoulder.
The nebulous arts and primal religions
are once again enchanting.  You bid
the hills to rise, and they do.

© by Halvard Johnson

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