"POEMS"
by Stephen Pain




EVOLUTION
THE IRISH POET  - The poet
The Man
The Bittern
The Plough





"EVOLUTION"


From two lumps of mud we evolved
unmoulded, unconscious, then came
a comet, then the rain, then primitive
life-forms, through the pre-Cambrian
talks in the university cafe,
and them the Palaeozoic moments
of slight touches and smiles,
through the Mesozoic and then Cenozoic,
walks through the diversity of life,
from beautiful jelly fish transparent
like the cling-film used to wrap
sandwiches, to those bulge-eyed
amphibians squatting on freshly made beds,
to a pair of nervous insectivores
checking each move, listening to every nuance,
then we became very close friends, sentient
and sensitive, with nothing yet resolved. 




The Irish Poet
      
The Poet

Slap him on the back
clap and congratulate
him for he is a poet

he can write about
rivers and rocks

Go on give him a drink
for he can rhyme
tomorrow with furrow

and
he has the gentle touch
he can write about
the birth of his son, 
or about
making love to a woman.




The Man

Grip him by the hand
for he is a man,
by God
he is a man
he digs
deep into Ireland
by the sweat of
his own brow
he brings up a sod
of ancient peat
which he applies
to the open wound
while  old Patrick,
one foot on the spade
looks on, mumbling and
fumbling for his 
pack of cigs
and
kiss him on the forehead
for this is the man who
can join the ballot and ballad
in unholy matrimony.




The Bittern

Now see
there flies the bittern
in the lecture hall
hear its booming call
there it goes in front of
your very eyes
at dusk between the reeds
he'll make you follow it
for a while, hoping you
won't ask why
it was
gratuitous
a bird thrown in, tossed in
for the audience
Now listen
to the acolyte
on television
reading the very same
poem, the very same
words, and the very same
bittern 
monotonously flies
across the mossy screen.




The Plough

Read him in the TLS
where he is recognised
as a poet among the all time greats
there he is allocated
his little plot, no matter what 
the weather, you'll find him tending
his peats
his mosses
his skulls and bones
his badgers and rabbits
his owls and sparrow hawks
his reviews and articles
by failed academics and second-rate critics.