Overhead, in contrast to the terrestrial stillness, the sky flowed steadily away, like one man's floating fragile life blows across the constant of life itself, to vanish into the unknown. - Ellis Peters
2005, April 23
Black March, by Stevie Smith
Black March, a poem by Stevie Smith, 1902-1971
I have a friend
At the end
Of the world.
His name is a breath
Of fresh air.
He is dressed in
Grey chiffon. At least
I think it is chiffon.
It has a
Peculiar look, like smoke.
It wraps him round
It blows out of place
It conceals him
I have not seen his face.
But I have seen his eyes, they are
As pretty and bright
As raindrops on black twigs
In March, and heard him say:
I am a breath
Of fresh air for you, a change
By and by.
Black March I call him
Because of his eyes
Being like March raindrops
On black twigs.
(Such a pretty time when the sky
Behind black twigs can be seen
Stretched out in one
Uninterrupted
Cambridge blue as cold as snow.)
But this friend
Whatever new names I give him
Is an old friend. He says:
Whatever names you give me
I am
A breath of fresh air,
A change for you.
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Stevie Smith, 1902-1971
Collected Poems, S. Smith
Stevie Smith, British Library (with picture)
Stevie Smith, BBC (with picture and interview)
from The Believer, April 2005
Page 1 of 1 pages
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