In this week’s Poetry Corner, we feature the work of poet Josephine Dickinson, author of the book, “Silence Fell.” She lives in Alston, the remote Cumbrian mining town high in the Pennines, since 1994.
June
Evening. A cool June. Hand in hand
we walk round the garden, dodging
loose stones, gaps where the new lawn needs
chocking with ballast, ducking the
windsock wrapping itself round its
pole, checking rows of this and that,
which seeds have failed to show up, which
flowers begin to glow, cold-frame
cucumbers to grow big enough
to finger the panes of glass. But
there is no blossom this year on
the apple tree. It has been too
cold. But when we step round the house
to the front door again and kiss,
we know it is no ordinary
love, this, that we stand in the cold
and the damp of this unusual
cold, wet June (but there are no wars)
and do what we do all the time –
love indoors outdoors just the same.
My Lover Gave Me Green Leaves
My lover gave me green leaves
with the mud of the garden on them,
radishes sharp and red,
nasturtium flames.
He gave me the tender heart
of a cabbage, its glossy coat,
a loaf of bread studded deep
with seeds.
He gave me the note
the blackbird
I’d cried at the blackness of
by the river sang.
He gave me the struck fire
of the thoughts
in his mind –
flint on flint.
He gave me the taste,
direct on his tongue,
of the syllables their embers
did not destroy.
He gave me his word,
the word of an Adam –
a promise,
should he set eyes on the sun.
He gave me a drop of the dew
to hold.
To see my face in it.
To look through.
He gave me,
in the chrisomed palm
of his empty hand –
a gasp of joy.
Night Journey
In this yew,
silver lipped bole,
divine the true
age of the year.
Whatever your wish,
to be still,
to tremble,
is hallowed here.
My bark is hollowed.
The wound
has revealed
the age of the moon
by her reflection
in my silver womb.
Hold me,
sea,
that I would be
a craft that sets
sail in calm
or storm,
by day, stars
or planets.
Who but you to provide
the state of the tide?
A boat without guide
needs only sea.
Unafraid to drown,
or to land alone
on sand at dawn,
hull empty.
