Poem — Harvey McQueen

A Letter

 

Vanished is the postie’s
whistle; with the anthem at
the movies & a butcher in
every suburb. In today’s
letterbox, left by the bronzed
lady with strong walk shoes
there is a magazine & three
letters, one from you. Time’s
cover is a new youth god who
can pick & choose his scripts.
When our script was edited
I didn’t allow that happy
ending you planned. The great
mess we make of things. But
let me add, the sight of your
handwriting still turns my heart
into a frantic rabbit going every-
where at once. Goethe declared
architecture is frozen music.
So is memory.

 

Harvey McQueen

Tagged with: , ,
Posted in Poem
Search
Subscribe to NZ Books
We're pleased you're using the New Zealand Books archive.

To ensure the survival of this important journal, please consider
subscribing — only $44 a year, or $30 for digital-only.

Go to the Subscribe page.
Search by category

Read more