Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Stopping For The Twelve Apostles

The Twelve  Apostles

So this is where the land goes
south: pink crumbling stacks,
geology on speed, earth-clouds.

So fast when one of them dropped
its brittle link with the mainland ––
‘London Bridge’ fallen to

‘London Arch’ –– the abrupt island
supported a population: two
startled tourists on hold

for a helicopter. I point my camera
into the wind’s wall, snap
another oblong of grandeur

(bite-sized, as befits
its current misnomer: the twelve
eroded to nine). As if

this balcony needs a wardrobe
of pantomime robes and fake beards
while the older names are still

nodding at us –– The Sow
and Piglets, Place Of Many Heads ––
up close and at bay

as the many-headed file
that shuffles past, clicks, turns
like a turnstile, except for

this couple in hoodies (though hers
is a kind of hooded coat
more like a blanket)

huddled together on the rim
of the flashes and grins,
wind-buffeted, slightly desperate

to pocket each other –– backed
into the guardrail,
having unpacked that portable

bedroom wall, the landscape
that matters. 

Well, that's the first thing I thought of when I read Katy's blog  today. I've been tinkering with the thing for years, ever since I went to Melbourne on a Vincent Buckley Poetry Fellowship in 2004. It never occurred to me that today might be numerically significant in any way. 12.12.12 = an excuse to post a poem and photo. But who needs excuses?

The other twelve that came to mind were the twelve kids I did a poetry workshop with earlier today, at the invitation of Tom Conaty, the principal. They were a delight, and the two hours passed like a dream. 


Harry B said...

Hi there,I've enjoyed reading back over your poetry here. Hope you keep it coming here.


Co Roscommon.

Mark Granier said...

Thanks Harry, much appreciated.