Oradour sur Glane, The Martyred Town. (Revised Version).

The burnt out buildings and vehicles
Of Oradour sur Glane
Have rotted on the rich green sward
Of Haute - Vienne
Like an unhealed wound
For much of my lifetime.
These piteous relics of a long gone epoch
Are a constant reminder of the horrors of conflict,
More powerful than any thick grained photograph
Placed high on a shelf
By a grieving parent.

Flickering images of starving prisoners
Violently gripping barbed wire fences
As they stare out at freedom
Lose potency as the years pass by,
But these shattered walls and caved in roofs
Are defiantly Now, and forever with us.

Nearly all of the townsfolk were butchered here,
Crammed into barns like pigs for slaughter,
Burnt alive in the ancient church,
Or shot as they tried to evade the squads
Of fanatical Third Reich soldiers.
These stones, these rusting hulks of cars,
These bombed out shells of well loved houses,
Are like scarred megaliths signalling anger
Against an uncomprehending world.

These are the only monuments that make any sense here;
Words are too fragile to describe such crimes,
And photographs are simply a blur of shadows
Dissolving gradually into nothing.
These ruins are raw, jagged and hard,
If we get too close we can tear our skin on them,
Rip our civilized flesh to the bone.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
January 22nd. 2015.  

I was too deeply affected to write about the recent events in Paris, my second city, but when a friend put a picture of the burnt out rusting cars left over from the 1944 massacre at Oradour sur Glane onto Facebook I just had to respond with a poem. I hope it speaks for all victims of atrocities, whoever they are, whatever part of the world they live in.  

A Beach in Donegal, 27th. December 2014.

A washed out
Faded
Frost blue
Clarity of sky
Hurts the eyes

I study
Tall clouds
Sailing
Serenely
Far above scree grey Errigal
Like the fleece white rudderless bucking ships
Of Celtic saints
Returning from America

Other mountains shall burst the soft hulls open
Upon inland peaks
And cornices
To steal their cargoes -
The priceless gifts -
But just as quickly lose them

This coast is usually mild
Unlike green hedged Fermanagh
Soaked in fog and snow -
A distant whisper of breaking waves
Reminds me of my origins
On the western verge of Europe -
Here where every rock and stone is sacred
And sea birds cackle archaic hymns
To strange primeval gods

The wet sand reflects the sailing clouds
In a harsh white natural mirror
Dazzling in the low December sun -
I stand
Half blind
In the midst of this sea edged mirror
Not knowing if I am placed on solid ground
Or somehow locked in stasis
Between the earth and sky

A nostalgia for sacred places pulled me home
Much as the west wind drove the ships of the saints
Travelling east from Greenland -
The holds crammed tight with legends

But I cannot honour the memory of those saints
As I linger here close by the ocean edge
Muttering paternosters
More out of habit than any sense of wonder

The cries of the grey winged birds drown out my every word
Mocking me into silence

Their magic rules the air


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
December 27th. 2014 - January 13th. - 14th. 2015. 

Will Shakespeare. (Revised).

Shakespeare, I meet you at nights in the pub,
The brothel, the goal.
You are one of our number,
A rogue and vagabond, a whore monger,
Dirt under your finger nails, spittle in your beard,
Cocking a snoop at the guardians of morality
As you write fierce plays to the thrum of the clock
In a smoke black alehouse.

Rapier sharp with raw sexual fury
Your words daub the tenements with a visceral anger
More relevant than untutored graffiti,
To tell us exactly how the wide world wags.
Thou art the truth speaker without parallel,
No public health warning can devitalize you.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
January 16th. - 22nd. - 23rd. 2014.
Re - written January 7th. 2015.

(1).Christmas Eve - Fermanagh. First Version. (2). O Zone.

                      1.

Christmas Eve - Fermanagh. (First Version).



There are no bright colours here -
The sky - pale as a shroud
Wet from weeping -
The sun - a dim white eye
Half closed among vast clouds.

The bone thin winter trees
Reach up like gnarled hands
Pleading -
Old saints at prayer
With few hopes of salvation. -
A blank horizon pressing down
Onto the ancient landscape -
Unremittingly -
Mocks this fragile sadness -
The pale sun fading
As a thin moon rises.

Cruel escarpments -
Mist sodden mountain walls
Melt like unquiet ghosts. -
Christmas Eve - Fermanagh -
The stillness gathers all unto itself
As evening settles. -
Clouds spread wide like canvas sails
That once drove famine ships.

Awaiting their congregations
The grey stone village churches
Stand like border forts -
The symbols of partition. -
The shadows of ancient grief -
Of martyrdoms and oppression -
Deeply stain their walls.

I was not born here -
But I might as well have been. -
I am at home in a frontier landscape
Where nothing is ever certain.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
December 24th. - 25th. - 30th. - 31st. 2014.
Last four lines, January 2nd. 2015.
Belcoo and Enniskillen. For Eithne. 

-------------------------------------------------------

                      2.

                O Zone.


The river of love bore you
Laughing
To an early death

May La tour Eiffel never cease
Weeping
Nor your gold winged Christ hit the ground

Happy New Year
Dear Angel
Guillaume Apollinaire


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
December 24th. - December 31st. 2014.

(1) The face of the Virgin. (2) Ghosting. (A Song). (3) A Shared Nightmare.

                      1.

      The face of the Virgin


Your face - pale in the church window -
Pensive among gold angel wings
Spread to shield the derelict stable
From the stiletto thrust of desert winds
Cutting through the cold back streets
Of war stormed Bethlehem.

Your face - neither Arab nor Israeli -
But North Italian - if my guide book is right -
Portrays to perfection the love of Mother Mary
For her boy child - born that violent night -
The shrieks of racists echoing through the city -
The flames of rockets arcing through the sky.

Your face - pale with love that defeats ideology
Shimmering among shadows in a patch of light.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
16th. December 2014.
---------------------------------------------------------

                        2.

         Ghosting. (A Song).


over our footsteps
criss-crossing the snow
your shadow drifting
obliterates mine -
black upon blackness -
we fold over the whiteness
a singular darkness

i loved you once -
but your love was unkind -
and now you have left me
dumb and blind
to wander at nights beside you

your hand on my shoulder
you whispering softly -
I turn to hear you
against the storm -
but your voice cannot magic
a path through the white wind
that shatters all calmness

i loved you once -
but your love was unkind -
and now you have left me
dumb and blind
to wander at nights beside you

over our footprints
criss-crossing the snow
your shadow drifting
with infinite deftness
interacts with mine -
two shadows ghosting
in the raw white wind

i loved you once -
but your love was unkind -
and now you have left me
dumb and blind
to wander at nights beside you


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
First Sketched November 5th. 1978.
Revised November 3rd. 2010 - December 17th. - 18th. 2014.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------

                           3.

         A Shared Nightmare.
      


Through a glass darkly I dream you
Dream hopes I must forsake

Flecked by sombre shadows
The mist dissolves the lake

I fear that we are drowning
and yet we dare not wake

I reach out to find the mirror
To touch but not to take

Your voice cries out forlornly
Cries out across the lake

Our hands meet in the darkness
A cold dawn starts to break

Your fingers melt like icicles
Melt back into the lake

Through a glass darkly I dream you


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
December 7th. 1980. - March 14th. 2014.
August 2nd. 2014. - December 18th. 2014.

(1) December 6th. (2) Pavane. (3) The Shortest Day.

                  1.

         December 6th.



Winter comes in without warning.

Children larking on new ice.

The sun laughing between cold clouds.



Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
December 8th. 2014.
-----------------------------------------------

               
                   2.

              Pavane


Dancing a stately pavane
We rarely touch,
But the heat of your nearby body
Warns me
That civilisation is only skin deep,
Much like that twisted scratch of a smile
That sometimes marks your face
For a moment or two,
Giving hope to the stranger
But frightening away the wary.

Your uncle was very certain that you loved me,
But I am not so sure,
Preferring to keep at a safe distance
As we parade down the centre of the hall
To the strict tempo
Of the courtly music.

Dancing a stately pavane
We rarely touch,
But the paradoxical shifts in your persona
Remain on view
Despite the orderly progress of the music
And the whiteness of the masks.



Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
December 8th. 2014.

-----------------------------------------------------

                    3.

       The Shortest Day.



Winter -
The stone I toss into the pond
Creates no ripples

Even time is frozen



Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
December 11th. 2014.

(1) Faltering Encounter. (2) Japanese Garden. (3) Autumn in the Park. (4) The Parting.

                  1.

     Faltering Encounter.



The moment that you opened the door
Your smile

(A fragile dance of light)

Tripped up the darkness
And laid it flat

Knocking me out in the process


                   *


No longer a stranger
And recovered from the sudden blow

I noticed that you dared not look at me
When I entered

But your smile was deftly reflected
In the verve of your body

The chirrup of your girlish voice

The tilt of your elegant neck
As you flounced down the hall


Trevor John Karsavin Potter
November 23rd 2014.
July 8th. 2015.

--------------------------------------

                     2.

         Japanese Garden.


     It is enough
 that a single word
is spoken beautifully


        Rock



Tree



       Water



Girl



       Silence



     It is enough
That someone listens

Trevor John Karsavin Potter
April 1964.
December 2nd. 2015.

--------------------------------------

                  3.

     Autumn in the Park


      Mist on eyelashes
      Fine frost of tears
       When we kissed



Trevor John Karsavin Potter
December 4th. 2014.
--------------------------------------

                   4.

         The Parting.


  Whispering goodbye
  Now we are strangers

  Black hair disordered
  Eyes deep in shade

  The dawn wind stirring
  Tugging your sleeve



Trevor John Karsavin Potter
December 4th. - 5th. 2014.