Issue 4: Ian Cartland

E pur si muove

What is the view from the window?

The view from the window is blue and green.

And how did last night go?

Last night went on forever.

Did they repair your wrist watch?

My hands are clasped on the writing desk.

How is your writing going?

I am diving out the window.

The boating lake is green and blue.

I let a drop slip through my sealed

eyelid, it forms a backward tear.

As a frog escapes raw

from scalding water, or the measure

of two spheres’ rise to meet a parapet,

I’m spilling back my memory.

But where will you go later?

To a book burning, call it dinner

with Galileo. Call it a warm night

out of season, I want to feel something

on my skin while I imagine

that if we fell from an open window

I could reach the ground before you.

Leisure Day

Parachute drop at dawn.

I like my heels to be pressed

to the sun lounger.

Canopy and canopy

folded into canvas packs

in time to the Brandenburg;

I lick stamps, bang them down

on postcards. My hotel coffee

trembles: I’m a desk man.

Ten harnesses grip armpits.

A poolside tape recorder

plays a moving Beethoven

as the jumpers’ tan boots dangle.

I float, sunned arms folded

on a wet, tiled lip:

imagine all the difficulties,

dining Italian

underneath the high board.

Knotted riser cords

flop from a parachute pack.

The tangled surface

of the swimming pool

is strung like a Hockney.

My hearing is exquisite.

The second violin

drops a pin from her hair.

Spaghetti of the day

slips from my plate

into the deep end.

Nine men land.

Man ten dwells on home.

Ian Cartland was born in Derbyshire. He lives in Cambridge, where he is involved in running the CB1 Poetry readings series.

Copyright © 2010 by Ian Cartland, all rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of Copyright law. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the notification of the journal and consent of the author.