Going east to go south
Back in the Morgan, leaving Cornwall and the west, accross the green of the south coast.
now I know what lies ahead - retracing a route
chasing something I found last year, though this time waking the dream
This trip will be different - not new - me trying to re-define - re-fine - re-find
Back in the Royal Norfolk Hotel near Folkestone- not so much royal.
Its charm and decor has not diminished.
I am Road weary.
the southern hem of Britain, all that south coast stuff, reminds me of somewhere
It was a long haul to get started.
The drive was good
through a dusted yellow september day,
milked with a summers splendour, spent.
This hotel has a certain character, though I like where it is - an edge of England.
The quiet sea just over the wall,
remembering last year the moon over the channel
the promise of the south
returning into a venture as if to go over it
to remind me or to realise it, again.
A repetition, the same thing but slightly different - slightly out of phase
The last trip, was it a wave good-bye to a youth or a hello to a maturity?
A fear the dream has disappeared - or become normal
a death in the afternoon
Following a notion
not even an idea
as unformed as a whim
out the window into the oranged sulphur streets
Away with the sun and the wind
On deck out with the smokers
The channel is a muted green
with ochre flumes beneath the surface
I feel quite groggy from the rapidly eaten full english and weak coffee
Mist dissolves the white cliffs of Dover
( or is it the cigarette smoke ).
start to notice the French
The strip of sand in Calais is sunlit and bright.
Out into Europe.
the motorail terminal is like an empty car lot, slowly filling with English trippers
The last train south of summer
It leaves its suburban siding, slowly,
out through the suburbs into the goldening light
Champagne in a six berth couchette
life can’t be all that bad
through a Corot greenness
moments of affirmation - recognition - remembrance
Light edge, blurred in transit
a strange magnitude
a deep wood - as if filled with stars
in its must
stars chambered with earth
unlocked and futile
this sounds out - on and eternal
somewhere near a dense damp soft musk
as julip falls
then, a rise up into ether
all violet and blue
hemming a skirt of twilight
up into a night proclaiming further light
a glimpse brocaded with an age
as abstract shapes
drawn as shadows
until the day
drawn as one long arc
like child's charcoal
spiked and unaware
train journey through an unfamiliar land
snap shot - fragmented
rouched thoughts flamboyantly hiding secrets
intersected and floating
this motion and direction
as if I’ve come to rest
and their love with flowers
or a necessity born out of god
I am as if floating
finding threads to knot or weave
or lay like a gifted simple line
watching the west fall away
a slim version
on the lips and hips of voluptuous women
as memory and wish
at the borders of sleep
a rhyme that weaves around till sleep
make my thoughts my own
picking nettles without the sting
This journey to no-one I know
on my own volition
no meaning except in my process
I am moving away from reason and quantity
dim lights on dusked sidings
this point of stasis
just before action
place where something that has and something that will,
lines either side
is it's appearance when actually it is a moment of realisation