I started the year with a bit of an enthusiasm for poetry, putting together a schedule of sorts so that I read some poetry on a weekly basis. It has fallen away in the last while, but occasionally one has a moment.
I am also currently subscribed to the Times Literary Supplement, and they publish some poems in each edition.
In an edition I read this week (from May 29th) there was a poem by C.J. Driver, which made me think of a special person in my life (who I am currently trying to evict from my heart, and the success varies). I would ordinarily have sent it to him, but as I am trying to rid myself o him in my affections have decided to go this route instead!
Anyway, the reason why this poem makes me think of him is that he is a man with issues, and perhaps one of them is that his mother was pregnant before him, so in his own mind, he is not quite the firstborn. I would have like the chance to ask, to understand, but until he is out from under my skin – to you my anonymous (non-existent) readers, I give you:
Song for an Unborn Brother
The one who should have been the first,
My mother lost at thirteen weeks.
My parents saved his name for me
And one there sleeps, and one here wakes.
I wonder what he might have been
Since what I am would not exit.
What little gap there seems to be
Between my body and the dust.
So when I’m dead (as dead as him)
Will I then seem as never born?
A shadow lost when lights went out?
A matchhead struck which didn’t b urn?
Abundance thrives despite our loss:
The glass reflects, the glass refracts –
My brother’s flesh and my own self
Still suppositions more than facts.
Postscript (15 June)
So I sent it to him anyway, and he liked it! I seriously need to get to know other people as well as I know him :-)