Friday poem: 'Windfall'
by John Glenday
What is love if it is not an unravelling
against the dark? In the moonless field
between house and river, remember
how you stood with your arms
wide to the night, under every tumid
star, waiting for one to drop.
Glenday's mastery of the short translucent lyric and his unashamed and direct concern with matters of the spirit, of love, of human nature and natural law – means he can often read as a Spanish or East European poet in immaculate translation. But for all its apparently weightless and aerodynamic grace, Glenday's poetry can be playful, experimental and occasionally even surreal, and his voice local and intimate.