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Three farewell villanelles.

 

Offered here to honour
the memory of Denis Boyles—
friend of poets and
editor of excellence

from The Wine Cup

By Richard Berengarten.

 

Hills and mountains

High Mountains swallow my shadow
But my heart is truly not a stone.

Shadows of hills and mountains steal my own
And swallow it with minimal delay.
But I’ve a heart. I’m not a rolling stone.

Autumn again. This garden’s overgrown,
And though light drenches everything by day,
Shadows of hills and mountains steal my own.

Come evening, before the sun climbs down,
my shadow lengthens, blurs, and melts in grey.
But I’ve a heart. I’m not a rolling stone.

As if dusk clutched me in long arms, breeze-blown,
And coddled me, protectively, in play,
Shadows of hills and mountains steal my own.

When cloudy night, black-robed, ascends her throne
She’ll squeeze my shadow till it drains away.
But I’ve a heart. I’m not a rolling stone.

I’ll be engulfed soon — breath, flesh, entrails, bone —
A creature fashioned out of mud and clay.
Shadows of hills and mountains steal my own,
But I’ve a heart. I’m not a rolling stone.

The poets’ wine-shop

While the white stones of Needle Island glisten,
Not a single cloud looms over Mount South.

Between skies of pure azure and sea blue
The poets’ paradisal wine-shop stands
Inside the gate that lets newcomers through —

Isn’t this wine-shop waiting for you too
By the last harbour, past time’s drifting sands,
Between skies of pure azure and sea blue?

Come, sit down, watch the dancers, drink the brew
And listen to the best performing bands
Inside the gate that lets newcomers through

And cast off evening shade and morning dew
For here eternal timelessness expands
between skies of pure azure and sea blue.

And see who’s here! Wang Wei, Li Bai, Du Fu,
Tao Qian — all rise to greet you. Come, shake hands,
Inside the gate that lets newcomers through.

See Mount Penglai rise high above Daiyu
Misted among the lost immortal islands
Between skies of pure azure and sea blue
Inside the gate that lets newcomers through.

Until this liquor drains

I’ve a fine wine here. Let’s share it.
A crane calls in the shade. Its chick answers.

Ineffable the ways the Way remains,
Unspoken, all-enduring, never-ending.
Love, drink with me until this liquor drains.

And pity the self-hater who abstains,
Refraining from desire, stiff and unbending.
Ineffable the ways the Way remains.

Ingredients of fruits, herbs, berries, grains —
What inner fire resides in their fine blending.
Love, drink with me until this liquor drains.

Its tastes — so complex! How the mouth retains
Echoes of subtle flavours, time-suspending.
Ineffable the ways the way remains.

Threading through tunnelled arteries and veins
Its fire fans out, ever itself-extending.
Love, drink with me until this liquor drains.

Come, sit outside with me and watch the cranes
Fly overhead. Heart-warming? Or heart-rending?
Ineffable the ways the way remains.
Love, drink with me until this liquor drains.

 

Denis Boyles (1946–2023)
Fortnightly Co-Editor and Managing Editor
—in memoriam—


Richard Berengarten’s collection The Wine Cup was published by Shearsman Books in 2022.
Drawing by Arijana Mišić-Burns.