Jeremy Clarke

i.m. Andrew Nicholson

Light as litter, rain’s empty containers are blowing away.
The sun’s sudden light is overwhelming. It’s everywhere
and all at once and every thing is an object of its desire.
A blackbird is singing in a jewelled city.

I’m walking to the sound of water running. Through a delicate mist
rewriting the air – the rain’s rebound. Its slow rewind, with smells.
A new wind is learning its vowels and whispers.

And the day, renewed, restarts. From the beginning,
with the smell of morning. The revelation of colours,
the resumption of sounds, and their timid first notes
as they struggle to remember themselves.

Every step is a new beginning. Every moment is a different world.
I’m always arriving. I’m always somewhere inbetween. Like river –
a slow commotion, a long hello. We’re timeless,

self-taught and singleminded, and we know ourselves
through our solitude, by our devotion to the journey,
and what it teaches.

We measure time by the weight of the wind,
by the arrival of rain, by the light’s intensity and intention.
Like everything else does.
A church clock is playing the same note again and again.

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Andrew Nicholson was the leading textual scholar of the writings of Lord Byron. He died of cancer on 31 October 2009, aged 61. Click here for the Times obituary

Jeremy Clarke has two books forthcoming from Rufus Books (Toronto. rufusbookspublishing.ca). He has a website, jeremyclarke.com. Another poem by Jeremy Clarke can be found here.