Poem Of The Week, Week 6: April '63 - a translation by Martyn Crucefix

The last poem we’d like to share with you this week is April ‘63, which is Marytn Crucefix’s translation of a German poem by Peter Huchel.

April ‘63

Looking up from the chopping-block

under a light rain,

with axe in hand,

I see up there in the wide boughs

five young jays.  

In silence, they chase, they indicate

from branch to branch,

pointing a way for the sun

through the hazy undergrowth.

And a fiery tongue flashes among the trees.  

I make my bed

in the icy hollow of my years. 

I split logs,

the tough splintery wood of isolation.

And I settle myself

among spiders’ webs,

deepening further the desolation of the shed, 

among the odours of pine

piled rough-cuts with axe in hand.

Looking up from the chopping-block

in warm April rain,

I see leafless

horse-chestnut boughs,

their sticky sheaths

of buds shine.

Crucefix’s most recent publications include, ‘Cargo of Limbs’ (Hercules Editions). His most recent blog posts can be found here.

Poem Of The Week, Week 6: Dog Years by Mo Gallaccio

Second up we have Dog Years by Mo Gallaccio -

Dog Years

My young friend Finlay has a dog.

He did me a drawing-

Ella, Patterdale terrier, 74 years.

He tells me...she’s really seventy-seven but

he didn’t want to rub it out and spoil the picture

and she lives seven or maybe it’s eleven (?)

years to every one of his.

I put her portrait on my wall

and note we are the same age.

She looks very sprightly

ears cocked, tail held high

nose up, alert - present.

Time is so very fluid, Ella

don’t you find? An hour

can drag on a whole day,

yet months and years flash

past all in a blink and memory

is so fickle, moments from years ago

fixed, every detail clear

but what I read or ate or did

last week - a blur.

Words slip out of reach

names and faces come adrift

I do acknowledge folk, but who they are

and how we met’s a mystery.

I am become so grumpy Ella

I miss that little optimist, my younger self

filled with curiosity and wonder, sometimes

fearful, often not understanding

ut full of trust and an unshakeable

belief in justice. A clear eyed

seven-year old. Age is just a number

Ella, I’ll take a lead from you

trade in my life-lived years

banish this weary cynic

become child-like again.

I’m with you Ella - I choose

to be alert. I will be present.