Ian Caws
Catchpole
When they buried Catchpole, water bubbled
Round his coffin. “He who loved the South Downs,”
Said the rector, “rests below sea level.”
So when I think of Catchpole, I think drains
And the old broken pump of a troubled
Sexton who had thrown away his shovel.
“We are one with the worms,” said the rector,
“People forget.” A surprise for Catchpole
To whom life was a question of floating,
Whose last sound was a squelch while on the hill,
Deer stood like porcelain. Then an actor
Friend read a poem and some children sang.
Within a week, the sexton had resigned
And the rector ignored him in the street.
I have become no closer to nature
And forget Catchpole at least until it
Rains or, opening the door on a bland
Evening, light hits my feet like water.
Page(s) 10-11
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