Poem 140

I’m not sure I can properly explain this … it’s incantatory and apocalyptic, seeking to identify the seat of the inferno that is always with us – is it above, inside us or under our feet … everything fiery we associate with lightness and brightness is dark here …

( I love the image of Earth as the foundry planet … as regards the title, the footage from Bradford is branded in my memory of the man walking the field with his hair in flames … )

Poem Ending With A Quote From The Bradford Football Ground Fire

I am the black sun
the black flame at midday
burning under glass
its long initial
I turn I twist
I kiss the ground grass and paper
with black flame
the ellipse of light under the magnifying glass
and its pupil weeping smoke
like sight along a straight look
into the sun
                forgive me I know
                what it is I do

I am the black sun
                    man
burning everywhere
everywhere with black flames
bursting under the fingernails
fires of country
like torched trees
the furnace of the cities
where cars like clear hot drops
collide
        I dance on this oil
a foot thick
lifted on the ocean
the slow black sea
                         I know
                         what it is I do

I am the black Earth
breathing arson setting fire
to meteors
the one true child of this sun seared
and insistent as tar
before all the pockets of night
I burn
same-coloured pouring
dark iron sparks
the foundry planet

pity him
             he came to watch football
             and now he's on fire