And he just lay there,
And the look was gone out of his eyes
And we tucked him away in a brown bean carton
Under the apple tree
And the house was awfully quiet without him,
That was "nostalgia".

***

And remember when we did the Plays,
And you were Wakefield in the Jalna one,
And we used to prop up your lines over the basin in the bathroom,
And you learned them while you brushed your teeth;
And you followed me round the kitchen
While I made peanut butter cookies
And took the part of Renny
At the same time …
And it was pretty exciting
And mixed up, and very wonderful …
And the smell of make-up, remember that?
And the keen edge of being treated like a grownup…
And the first taste of applause
And the feeling of "power"
When you nip't your cue
Right on the nose;
And then it was all over
And there weren't any more rehearsals,
And all the excitement was quenched
And school seemed uncommonly dull
And one night you went back to the theatre
To get your little riding boots,
And it was deserted and dusty.
But that lovely smell of make-up
Still lingered in the dressing-room;
And you stood there for a minute
With one boot in your hand
And let it just "roll" over you …
The Play … the lights … the fun …
And then you gave yourself a little shake
And picked up the other boot … and felt … well …
That was "nostaglia"!

***

And then … remember the time in the Union Station
And we'd been down to Gammie's together
Because Daddy was there … on Last Leave …
And he'd met us at the train,
And taken you to the Mess
And you'd seen the Bunk, where he slept,
And played a game of Darts,
And had a Coke with him in the Canteen,
And gone to a Movie
And felt very proud when we came out
Because your father looked so impressive in his uniform.
And because we'd agreed there'd be no fuss,
No tears … no last good-byes …
Daddy had just said,
"So long, Sport … I'll see you in the Funny Papers …"
But for once
It wasn't funny.
And you were still holding the little metal disc in your hand
Daddy had stamped out for you
With your name on it.
And you didn't seem to want to put it out of your hand
Not even in your pocket;
And you looked at me across a great, black gap…
And even I couldn't fix it … this time …
And that was "nostalgia"!

"Toujours Gai"

For Jamie, of the R.A.F.

"He has outsoared the shadow of our night".

***

Bravely he kept his tryst with Death -
Who somehow knew it would come to pass -
But he tipped his cap at a rakish slant,
And he gave himself a smile, in the glass.
If his hand was clenched, there was none to see,
If his heart was sore for the home he missed,
And the eager face of his dearest love
And her flying hair … and the lips he'd kissed.
He had made for himself, from a little phrase
A shield and a buckler to save the day -
And the little phrase was a bit of himself,
And he laughed when he said it, - "Toujours gai!"

That Girl In Hong Kong

That girl in Hong Kong …
She must have loved frivolous things, too;
Collected crystal brandy glasses,
Cut flowers for a white bowl …
And dreamed the incredible bubbly-coloured dreams
That all girls do.

She might have been married,
Tucked children off to bed at night;
Told stories to;
Put candles on the table;
Worn a white lace dress,
Proud to be slender and desirable
And womanly …

That girl in Hong Kong …
She felt safe … and secure … and thankful for security;
Maybe she chose a gay, almost boastfully red lipstick
Because it was Christmas.

How pitiful is paint
On the mouth of one
Dead!

Image

You can't put it into words,
This feeling of remembering.
It comes up like a little mist
Between you, and your world …
So that suddenly a flurry of leaves …
Or pewter mugs … shining in a shop window …
Can make you stand quietly …
Till this ache passes over!

Convoy

Suddenly, my Darling …
Out of a deep sleep
I could smell the Sea
And a salt wind blowing …
And I knew that you had gone from me!

Answer Me!

Answer me this
What do lovers do
When there is no more meeting?
When night comes down, quietly,
And the moon rises over the fields …

Even the dew on the grass must be pressed down
By the eager feet of the returning dreamers;
Hand turned against hand, like two children
Coming back to a garden;
Voices soft, and anxious, and blurred with their intolerable longing!

Answer me this
What do lovers do
When there is no more meeting?

Immortality, 1943

Immortality …
It's such a big word
I always thought it was something tremendous -
Big … like a cathedral …
Or the Sea …
Now, I think it's little
But very certain -

Sometimes, it's in a ring,
Or a pair of wings,
Or the badge off a Tanker's cap -
Or a kiss -

Sometimes it's a cable …
"Safe and well
All my love."

Sometimes it's a child -
How he turns his head,
The shape of his hands,
His laugh
With the head thrown back,
And joy, like a shining sword
Cutting the dark -

Immortality …
It's what goes on,
It's what marches on
After the march is over -
It's wings in the sky
After the plane is down -

It's tears and laughter
And Beauty … burning like a star
Alive, … in the heart …
Forever!

Cathedral

The square in front of Notre Dame,
I fancy it must look the same;
With trampled snow, and pigeons drifting
From sky to earth; Cathedral lifting
Its classic spires … aloof … austere …
It must be like it was last year.

Remember the tall Franciscan monk
With the blowing beard, that was red as flame …
And his earth-brown robes, and his sandaled feet …
Remember? (You called me a darling name!)

Remember … I borrowed your handkerchief
To tie on my head … that we might go in?
It was quiet, and dark - and warm and still
With the whisper of "Aves", murmuring.

And we stood at the shrine of Sacre Coeur
To light a candle against the day,
Too terribly soon … when a boat would sail …
And you held my hand … and forgot to pray.

And suddenly-everything seemed so dear …
So precious, so lovely, so brief, and fair,
The whispered "Aves" … the little hearts …
The candle shine on your darling hair.

The square in front of Notre Dame …
I fancy it must look the same.
Only … one candle less, this year,
At Sacre Coeur, my dear … my dear!