Peter Hughes
LANDSBERGER ALLEE
I see her pedal down the boulevard playing truth or dare with trams & dodgy invites/contemporary lyrics from white-van lads who like to kill mosquitoes with the sun when she accompanies this tune by Clifford Brown I didn’t know was still switched on we enact complex greetings & somebody on the kerb blows over the mouth of an empty bottle of Pils STORKOWER STRAßE these exact red berries reflecting on cold water remembering vibrations a final sip now try to sleep install a blue translucent skylight in the roof of your own mouth & meditate upon scuffs & cracks in the old unpolished shoes lose any lightness & keep sleeplessness company a little longer check time & trip down consonants into the dark |
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The music involves a lot of contradictions and cannot take shape in a soundproof room. As with many of the best wines and perfumes, there are usually a few shared bass notes, according to the training course. One continues to be the sound of the Earth turning which is in itself a blend of remote cement mixers and that guy blowing over the mouth of a bottle. Another is the sobbing from upstairs and behind you plus the noise of shouting in the next street. The hush of a passing limousine sounds like nerve gas and a new security procedure. The skies slide shut again.
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Copyright © Peter Hughes 2018
Peter Hughes is a poet, teacher and he runs Oystercatcher Press. He is currently based in Cambridge, where he was recently the Judith E. Wilson Visiting Fellow in Poetry. His irresponsible versions of Petrarch and Cavalcanti are published by Reality Street and Carcanet respectively.