Frank---
jittery with creative fervor. existential anguish. this hotel parked just outside hell.
A warm wet wind washes the hotel forecourt,
condappana palms sway in Old Bombay;
(fantastic)
these visions...
...lithe dresses on a line.
...medals from an unmentionable age.
...Droplets splatter
the guests...
---My neighbour waves from across the hall,
---His Indian bride peeks in the background
---a young man sits; so close I can touch,
exotic smells and place names:
---Hertogenbosch (
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H4fjZBzDPY4)
---redolent of Gulf cuisine.
the closing circle of dis paring passion...
I become a voyeur, watch
young women weave around
him dressed in silk splashed
saris arousing desire;
the monsoon tail slashes
at the window,
takes away my breath.
the narrator, stripped and purloined:
I write in my diary: Hiraeth, an inconsolable
heartache for home.
the poems aesthetic denouement:
Welshcakes by the fire, a mist lifting
off the crag, a fresh wind chasing down the valley
shaking the chimney pots. Crows rush past
like arrows from a bow. Winberries collected
from the west side of the hill,
exuberant and overshadowed by a vague feeling of dread and irredeemable loss. as though Hieronymus Bosch was a poet rather than a painter.
bernie