Shearsman 56

Peter Redgrove

 

Moth and Motor-car


Moths rolling over and over
                    in the car lights,
                                        the beams and rafters of light,
Their widening rooms
                    wedged open. The goldstone
                                        of the moths' eyes flashing.
We stood under a gigantic hedgerow,
                    moths lying on the sheet
                                        like broken yachts.
Her breath took frosty forms
                    like moths. She released
                                        a potion from her cunt
As a moth might ooze its balsam
                    and fan it with its wings,
                                        her dress started this,
The night moths wished to gather
                    on its flowers. I was penetrated
                                        by this balsam of hers
And by the balsam of the moths sticking
                    to the white sheet with their
                                        excited juice, I could not tell
Moth from lover, it was all natural.
                    We had laid the old double sheet
                                        down on the grass
In front of the blazing headlights,
                    we had laid it down
                                        like a gigantic marriage-ghost,
We smoothed out the creases that
                    cast their shadows, and fastened
                                        the hems down with white stones.
The rest, it happened of itself,
                    each moth a small lamp fuelled with sperm-oil,
                                        as the sheet darkened
With its night-progeny
                    seeking to create a dress like hers,
                                        wide on, a nightdress statement,
The sheet an imaging mirror,
                    a linen mirror like a bride bed,
                                        moth neckline, moth buttons,
Moths patterning a one great moth,
                    we felt our skins darkening
                                        not just with what we saw
But what was seen
                    through the lighted
                                        balsams, human and non-human,
Answering each other.

 


Copyright © the estate of Peter Redgrove, 2003


Peter Redgrove was born in 1932 and lived in Cornwall from the mid-1960s. One of the most consistently remarkable English poets of the post-war period, he was the author of over thirty verse collections and ten works of fiction, as well as plays and works of non-fiction. His collections include Selected Poems (Cape, London, 1999). and From the Virgil Caverns (Cape, 2002). He died on 16 June 2003. A posthumous collection Sheen (166pp, £10) appears from Stride in October 2003, and a tribute volume, Full of Stars Dreaming (54pp, £5.95) appears from the same publisher in October 2003. Both books can be ordered, post-free, from the publisher at 11 Sylvan Road, Exeter EX4 6EW.