Culture

Poetry Corner

 

THE LONGEST DAY OF THE YEAR

One word one word and then another,
one word and another, waiting for the
light to come stealing in, you ask what
is it that love dares the self to do?

All he wanted was to put his shoes out
in the moonlight.  To hear music be the
saint of laughter again.  And all that
time rehearsing his lines in the dark;

the love-mess of it all – when so much
forgetting is always about remembering;
on the long walk backwards to meet
himself coming the other way, but didn’t

It’s just that I’m made of clouds, he said,
so many of my words have lost their
happiness. That endless dream of being
awake forever and there is no one there

How the longest day of the year keeps
getting shorter.  And I am too much alone;
if you love me will I love you too, will you?
It seemed to matter that there was no
marvellous music anymore:  all that he

could hear one word one word and then
another, waiting for the light to come
stealing in, all that he could hear was

how he lives in the buried talk of others;
inside the long history of goodbye

Written by Michael Harlow

3 replies »

    • I’m afraid I don’t know to whom the poem refers, what a wonderful connection to Orkney it would be if your theory were to be right.

      Like

  1. Not so much a theory – it’s just that, when I read it, it spoke to me of GMB – how he was ( as far as I can tell, who never knew him).
    Just something of him, in those words and that description of someone being/feeling that way, and then, the ending – living on in the buried talk of others.

    “could hear one word one word and then
    another, waiting for the light to come
    stealing in, all that he could hear was

    how he lives in the buried talk of others;
    inside the long history of goodbye”

    It’s very good, about that way of being. Eddie Cummins came to mind, too.
    Maybe it’s something to do with the Orkney melancholy. I don’t know – I’m just sending thoughts.
    In fact, that’s what reading this did It meant that I send thoughts to George Mackay Brown, and to Eddie Cummins, thoughts to them and for them, in gratitude for their ways of seeing and being, and how they expressed that so that we can walk with them.
    And now, this man, too, has done something similar.
    That’s what good writing, or art of any kind, does, I think.
    I risk rambling, so I’ll stop now!

    I’ll just add – lets celebrate the longest day, and the light coming stealing in, in our minds and in our lives!

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s