The ice is frozen in upon itself© GERALD ENGLAND
No amount of hyacinths
or pricking roses can melt
There is a hole in it from which blood pours
From the other opening
come waves in cut air
One of the holes is useless
sterile
essence of nothing
The ice is frozen in upon itself
Fire frightens it
sends into panic
Two ducts exude salt water
Shed skin withers
The ingathering of ethanolic drugs
is accentuation of accumulation
But even steady pressure
creates no heat
The ice is frozen in upon itself
Composed: Sheffield, 29th April 1973
Publications
1974 Littack (UK)
1980 THE RAINBOW AND OTHER POEMS (Heckmondwyke, Fighting Cock Press)
1993 Dial 174 (UK)
1993 Apostrophe (UK)
This is excellent. I don't like to say that about a poem, but the language is ice cold. You can't even feel the booze. This should be anthologized and discussed by students. If I were still teaching, I would definitely ask permission to use this.
ReplyDeleteThe Fred Effect