Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Lee Harwood

SEPTEMBER DUSK
BY NANT Y GEUALLT

SEPTEMBER DUSK
BY NANT Y GEUALLT

SEPTEMBER DUSK
BY NANT Y GEUALLT

The scent – bog myrtle
pressed between fingers,
even brushed through when
walking across this empty valley
fenced by crags.

A flat moor – the colours muted
as dusk closes in
the red rust of grasses and bracken.

A sense of calm almost,
the silence.
No bird nor beast.

“In a remote land far from here . . .”
No, not that far
the mountains and bogs.

As though in a dream,
as though in an underworld
suspended between “life and death”
wondering
“Is this what it’s like?
it feels so good.”

But no, here and awake.

The minutes pass as
silk air wraps itself
around my head.

May my children feel this touch

one day.
Close

SEPTEMBER DUSK
BY NANT Y GEUALLT

The scent – bog myrtle
pressed between fingers,
even brushed through when
walking across this empty valley
fenced by crags.

A flat moor – the colours muted
as dusk closes in
the red rust of grasses and bracken.

A sense of calm almost,
the silence.
No bird nor beast.

“In a remote land far from here . . .”
No, not that far
the mountains and bogs.

As though in a dream,
as though in an underworld
suspended between “life and death”
wondering
“Is this what it’s like?
it feels so good.”

But no, here and awake.

The minutes pass as
silk air wraps itself
around my head.

May my children feel this touch

one day.

SEPTEMBER DUSK
BY NANT Y GEUALLT

Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère