Hardy
 

                                       That thin

mechanic air

bringing Thomas Hardy

such heidde

gerian Care

across the thresh

hold of a century

now swirls

at my door gob

lets of silence

never quite

amesh

tiny gongs of crystal

 
 


articulation, coring

ajar reticent sparks

of renunciation

hov

                    er

                                       ov

er sycamore and porch,

air of resig

nation, swirl

ing in the very

midst of blighted

headstones—thin

mechanic tint touch

ing the cheeks of

that country blonde

holding a lamp in the

casement. then

that air

tracing the tint

of a century

brings the scent

of Thomas Hardy’s

carriage

(hooves and horsefart)

moving in stir

ruped hei

ddegerean rhythm

on dusty battered

wessex roads

balding mustached british

poet

in the vested suit

starched white collar.

come

festering through the brok

en carriage windows

finch and thrush, brash

starling, fractious

jay, dove and

cuckoo—all manner

of creatures

that squawk and squeak

and thunk and thirl and thud

O Thomas thom

                             as

                                       hardyger     that

                             thin mech

                                                an

                                                          ic

                                                                             air!

 

Stanley Nelson