David Kennedy

 

Unstoppable languages

Unstoppable languages
took their energies

down the bypass
and out of the valley,

says the empty café by the bridge,
hanging over the Allier;

their way of having their way,
say the ruins marked 'à vendre'.

The cadastre, parcelling land
you either can't find or can't get to,

is a map of the commune
only its ghosts could follow.

What got bounced out of the cart
was people repeating

the same actions in the same place.
What got left in the road

were explanations coming to an end
in romances of the castle

overlooking hanging gardens
where we see only matted gradins.

It's about as likely
these woolly, windblown ledges

were where the serpent
the centurion saint's killing in the church

would curl round the rock
and sleep off midday.

Yes, explanations come to an end somewhere,
and if weeds are flowers

in the wrong place then ruins
are houses in the wrong time,

something that strangely pleases
and upsets me every morning.

 

 

Copyright © David Kennedy, 2007.

David Kennedy lives in Sheffield, where he edits The Paper and publishes Cherry on the Top Press. His latest poetry collection is The Devil's Bookshop (Salt, 2007). He has also edited a volume of essays, Necessary Steps, for Shearsman Books.