Derek Mahon

A cold and stormy morning

   I sit in Ursula’s place

and fancy something spicy

   served with the usual grace

by one of her bright workforce

   who know us from before,

a nice girl from Tbilisi,

   Penang or Baltimore.

Some red basil linguine

   would surely hit the spot,

something light and shiny,

   mint-yoghurty and hot;

a frosty but delightful

   pistachio ice-cream

and some strong herbal

   infusion wreathed in steam.

Once a tomato sandwich

   and a pint of stout would do

but them days are over.

   I want to have a go

at some amusing fusion

   Thai and Italian both,

a dish of squid and pine-nuts

   simmered in lemon broth,

and catch the atmospherics,

   the happy lunchtime crowd,

as the cold hand gets warmer

   and conversation loud.

Boats strain at sea, alas,

   gales rattle the slates

while inside at Ursula’s

   we bow to our warm plates.

1 A LIGHTHOUSE IN MAINE

– Edward Hopper

It might be anywhere, that ivory tower

reached by a country road. Granite and sky,

it faces every which way with an air

of squat omniscience, intensely mild,

a polished Buddha figure warm and dry

beyond vegetation; and the sunny glare

striking its shingled houses is no more

celestial than the hot haze of the world.

Built to shed light but also hoarding light,

it sits there dozing in the afternoon

above the ocean like a ghostly moon

patiently waiting to illuminate.

You make a left beyond the town, a right,

you turn a corner and there, ivory-white,

it shines in modest glory above a bay.

Out you get and walk the rest of the way.

A cold and stormy morning

I sit in Ursula’s place

and fancy something spicy

served with the usual grace

by one of her bright workforce

who know us from before,

a nice girl from Tbilisi,

Penang or Baltimore.

Some red basil linguine

would surely hit the spot,

something light and shiny,

mint-yoghurty and hot;

a frosty but delightful

pistachio ice-cream

and some strong herbal

infusion wreathed in steam.

Once a tomato sandwich

and a pint of stout would do

but them days are over.

I want to have a go

at some amusing fusion

Thai and Italian both,

a dish of squid and pine-nuts

simmered in lemon broth,

and catch the atmospherics,

the happy lunchtime crowd,

as the cold hand gets warmer

and conversation loud.

Boats strain at sea, alas,

gales rattle the slates

while inside at Ursula’s

we bow to our warm plates.

(after Ibsen)

She  Born in a lighthouse, I still find it hard

as wife to a doctor ten miles from the coast.

My home is a pleasant one but I get bored;

the mountains bother me. Now, like a ghost,

you show up here, severe and adamant.

What are you anyhow? What do you want?

He  I am a simple man upon the land,

I am a seal upon the open sea.

Your eyes are of the depths. Give me your hand,

give me your heart and come away with me.

to the Spice Islands, the South Seas; anywhere.

Only the force of habit keeps you here.

She  Even up here, enclosed, I sniff the brine,

the open sea out there beyond the beach;

my thoughts are waves, my dreams are estuarine

and deeper than an anchor chain could reach.

I knew you’d come, like some demonic fate

glimpsed at a window or garden gate.

He  How can you live here with no real horizon,

someone like you, a mermaid and a Muse,

a figment of your own imagination,

the years elapsing like a tedious cruise?

Your settled life is like this summer glow;

dark clouds foreshadow the approaching snow.

She  Sometimes,emerging frommy daily swim

or gazing from the dock these quiet nights,

I know my siren soul; and in a dream

I stare astonished at the harbour lights,

hugging my knees and sitting up alone

as ships glide darkly past with a low moan.

He  If our mad race had never left the sea,

had we remained content with mud and rock,

we might have saved ourselves great misery;

though even this evening we might still go back.

Think of the crashing breakers, the dim haze

of a salt sun rising on watery days.

She  My wild spirit unbroken, should I return

to the tide, choosing at last my other life,

reverting to blue water and sea-brine,

or do I continue as a faithful wife?

If faithful is the world for one who clings

to the lost pre-existence of previous things.

He  do you remember the great vow you made

to the one man you chose from other men?

The years have come between, with nothing said,

and now the stranger has appeared again

to claim your former love and make it new.

You ask me what I am; but what are you?

She  I am a troubled woman on the land,

I am a seal upon the open sea,

but it’s too late to give my heart and hand

to someone who remains a mystery.

Siren or not, this is my proper place;

go to your ship and leave me here in peace.