Geoffrey Squires
Untitled III
from Untitled and other Poems 1975-2002, Wild Honey Press, Bray, Ireland, 2004.
And in too many places too near or too soon
all around us even behind when we turn
many many small movements
uncertain at first and then
whether it is or has within it
imagine what that would mean
*
To come here is to know it again
as if nothing had changed
and all that had happened in the meantime
was of no consequence had no import
for this place the paths the trees
the light falling through the silence
*
Which is no more than to say
and yet with the capacity to work its way
into spaces we have only just thought of
movement how do we know
one thing following from another
might or might not and anyway if it did
*
To find stories for these trees
narratives of their foliation
some reason for density
few things resist interpretation
defend themselves successfully
against comprehension
and it is all in the air somehow
hanging trapped with nowhere to go
suspended above these deep indolent rivers
with branches trailing fish lying in pools
*
One thing flowing from another
to where in some place one imagines
it will stay
come to rest finally
some kind of destination
beyond which one does not go
or cannot go or has no need to go
*
Whether it is or has within it
such substance as cannot be imagined
who knows where it all goes
many many small movements
what light there is
draining upwards and away
voices a shiver in the air
time the particular
*
Each time a little or a little more
all these movements gathered into one shadow
listen wait do not
and to find some history for them something
that they lack without which they seem
curiously superficial
merely what they are
*
And for all we know
might be so again
breaks down repetitive not long
one thing flowing from another
imagine what that would mean
why does it repeat this of all movements
there is not one day but I have in some way tried
believe me
*
Where if it did and if it did
no one remembers the beginning
no one understands the end
many many small movements
long casts of shadow
what crosses its path or field of vision
and is as quickly forgotten
*
Which when it came was not because
one thing following upon another
and after that
the silences handed down
as if in a long line
without a word
*
Soft arrange order classify
uncertain at first and then
one thing flowing from another
in the long pauses that there now are
and might be so again
adds up no doubt and over the course of time
*
Which at no point rises significantly above the rest
but extends on all sides
in every direction in the same way
*
It is a mistake to think
that each moment should somehow be
one thing following from another
descent once again
where the path leads down
to small woods and hidden water
and all is all around
close intimate proximate
so that we pause bemused
incapable of taking it in
*
Sameness invites abstraction sends the mind reeling
which needs above all some detail
something to keep it occupied
something to work on
*
These are small places
not worthy of a name
some outcrop or hillock
the gap between two fields
and no one has thought to name them
give them some name
which we could know them as
remember them by
*
Where if it did and if it did
breaks down repetitive not long
one thing flowing from another
why does it repeat this of all movements
and an echo as if there was space there
imagine what that would mean
*
Stretches or reaches out maybe
and there is always the idea
that it is only a matter of effort or degree
which is no more than to say
sudden lift unaccounted for
unless it were the air that raises them
just for a moment temporarily
and the darkness later like a quality
soft intangible like qualities are
*
Where if you do it often enough
if it is repeated often enough
*
Passage from sun to cool
and the air inside like marble
on the face the bare shoulders
in the unwonted dark of the room
a warm breeze rifling the curtains
sound of the sea the sea
where you where I where we
*
Monitoring or following following
such substance as cannot be imagined
who knows where it all goes
but that comes wholly from the outside elsewhere
brief exaltation temporary unexplained
believe me
*
Which when it came was not because
light or heat shimmering
de-composing the visual
see this is how it is
and there is always the idea
that it is only a matter of effort or degree
*
But suddenly is a lot further away
might or might not and anyway if it did
which is no more than to say
here not for the first time
one thing following upon another
stretches or reaches out maybe
*
All of which I do not deny
*
As if their very proximity meant something
quiet invasion of dusk
uncertain at first and then
and the going over again all that has been done
to which place of the many there are
till we are only spaces cries of air
*
Soft press of limbs collusion of touch
where if you do it often enough
if it is repeated often enough
night the other way up
the darkness turned over on its back
*
Which is no more than to say
stretches and reaches out maybe
I think of it as light quick in its movements
darting retrieving then pausing before
though often going back briefly just long enough
to confirm to make sure
*
And we make plans that are never used
faint rustle of leaves in the death wind
whether it is or has within it
this ready world
when if only things had been different
worked out another way
this day which will be like any other day
oh no
*
Not until one has gone does the other come
as if in its turn waiting its moment
uncertain at first and then
fixes upon does not let go
if only because
no longer ours if it ever was
I know that I know
*
How little we speak in the dark
almost as if we were afraid
or that it meant too much was too significant
or that someone was listening
as if we could be heard
*
Does not leave me now is never without
when I remember to remember
in its own time at its own time
which is no more than to say
and there is always the idea
that it is only a matter of effort or degree
*
Where if it did and if it did
*
And does not go away just because it has been forgotten
left unattended dismissed for a while
what comes next or at last
and slightly earlier than was expected
which is not to say
or cannot be said to be
*
This is a place reached
where or only or in what way
Geoffrey Squire (b.1942) Grew up in Co. Donegal and studied at Cambridge. Has lived and worked in a number of countries and is now retired and resident in England. Main publications: Drowned Stones, New Writers Press, Dublin, 1975; Landscapes and Silences, New Writers Press, Dublin, 1996; Untitled and other Poems 1975-2002, Wild Honey Press, Bray, 2004. Some Persian translations have appeared in World Poetry (ed. Washburn and Major), Norton, 1998.