Time quietly compiling us like sheaves

Turns round one day, beckons the special few

With one bird singing somewhere in the leaves

Someone like K., or somebody like you,

Free-falling target for the envious thrust,

So tilting into darkness we must go.

The start of another beautiful poem by Lawrence Durrell. It is dedicated to his friend, the writer Seferis, and a later line refers to poets leaving their work behind with readers “in the lost property office of the loving mind”. What a gracious, warm sentence.

Leave a Reply

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

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

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ 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 )


Connecting to %s