Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

Poetry Library Southbank Centre - The Poetry Library housing the Arts Council Collection at Southbank Centre

« Previous item
Contents of this issue
Next item »

Chris Beckett

print this page

The Garden at Dungeness

This is a garden with no fence, but
separate in being made from things he chose 
             - from bits of scrap

that he bedded in like flowers,
from necklaces of gorse and totems that make 
             notes out of the wind,

from rust growing on a spade head
by a clump of cotton lavender, and dog roses poking
             through the rocks

to scent the sharp air.
Even stones whistle through a hole, or take a coat 
             of lichen

which they flaunt like fur.
It may look shaggy but there is no mistaking
             the care,

no doubt that everything including rust
and stone is here to grow and, in growing, charm
             the passer-by.

Later on he wrote about his friends
and his garden on the beach at Dungeness:
             Death comes even for stones.

But still life thrives in bleak places,
and things without life grow, change colour, eating
             the wind and salt.

If we stand here much longer,
we'll go his colour of kippers, and have eyes
             big as gull's eggs.

So we walk back to the car
in the teeth of the wind, and I can feel my tongue
             tipped to say

something personal to us,
protective, like a dragon tooth waiting
             to be sown.

 

Page(s) 56-57

Back to top