E. Best: lyrics | fictions | episodes
tell me about the sea
and what it means
and what the weather’s like in Brindisi
where my people come from
who I never met
I know more about the sea
and what it means
than I do of those who made me
and summoned me from sleep
tell me about the sky
and what that means
and what it means
to live without regret
I spend my days collecting meanings
and haven’t found one yet
it never gets dark here
we have stars and streetlamps
to keep us awake
headlights on the ceiling at 3am
I rise to a hoar frost
and the ground of my being is frozen
later there will be rain
and I will listen at the window
I like to hear about your baking
your day
simple things precisely said
that mean a lot
to one
so far away
complicated things
that you know how to make
sound easy
when birds awake at night
and dogs cry out
I reach for you
we are not strangers
I heard about that meeting
at the well
the truth of water
feeling the level rise
to promise life
I reach for you
as birds awake at night
they are no strangers
either
darkness before dawn
I listen
as is my practice
lifting the mug of coffee to my lips
with both hands
the dog is sleeping on the bed
you tell me (as have others)
that the truth is closer
than I am to myself
closer than the thick black liquid
quickening in my throat
only it’s not working today
it is not here
that which with a rush is only everywhere
in your voice
the quiet breathing of the dog
the sip of coffee
grace knows no horizon
the heart no other resting place
than this
yet I’m no wiser
like children at a rock pool
we have dipped our buckets
and I have drawn up nothing once again
curious water
a ribbon of seaweed
if I were on my deathbed
even now
yours is a voice
to lead me by circuitous paths
to nowhere
which is the only place
I ever thought to be
it might be birdsong
or the voice of my father
calling up the stair
as I rocked on my heels
pretending not to hear
so long ago
I spit the grounds
place the mug down gently to one side
close my tired eyes
and see more clearly
that I am never closer to God
than when I am about to fall
and know
there is no one here to catch me
but myself
so long I have waited
listening for a footfall at the door
now in that very listening
am assured
that You have never left this house at all
for one second
but have in all this time
been overlooked
simply ignored
on the windowsill
the little Buddah
I bought in the Portobello Road
when I first learnt to meditate
fifty years on
and I finally get it
a thousand YouTube gurus
have their say
he says nothing
and that is all I need today
the blackbird sings to me
his native thought
in that mother tongue
I knew
before I had voice to speak
in riddles
to the London trees
dwarfed between tall towers
contemplate the air that we breathe
this open field
the gentle rustling of leaves
and all around
then observe
the miraculous company of birds
maybe then
you will believe
there is an end to suffering
maybe then
you will believe
there is a place called everywhere
I placed my feet in water
that sprang from sacred ground
the stones like silent counsellors
my wife and child stood round
some part of me I left there
it being so hot that day
the things that we remember
as memory falls away
a life as soft as water
a pillow where I lay
a pool along the wayside
all on a summer’s day
of [or pertaining to]
spring
these quick awakenings
no longer beset by passion
once pursued
care unallowed
now sensing the sun overhead
in time of cloud
all is renewed
Another Way of Saying 