Prayer – Carol Ann Duffy
Some days, although we cannot pray, a prayer
utters itself. So, a woman will lift
her head from the sieve of her hands and stare
at the minims sung by a tree, a sudden gift.
Some nights, although we are faithless, the truth
enters our hearts, that small familiar pain;
then a man will stand stock-still, hearing his youth
in the distant Latin chanting of a train.
Pray for us now. Grade 1 piano scales
console the lodger looking out across
a Midlands town. Then dusk, and someone calls
a child’s name as though they named their loss.
Darkness outside. Inside, the radio’s prayer -
Rockall. Malin. Dogger. Finisterre.
Carol Ann Duffy (1955-)
From Mean Time (Anvil, 1993)
Friday, January 8, 2010
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Oh she is incredible. I don't know how she does it.
ReplyDeletePoet Laureate of England, first woman. I think you know.
". . . hearing his youth
in the distant Latin chanting of a train."