Late Journey with my Father
I would put down my life like a book
I am halfway through and enjoy this journey
with my father as any old adults at a table
without the great landscape of my childhood
pressing at every window, and the carriages
rattling out their narrative we are stuck in.
I would have him not have to speak,
and me not have to listen to myself
calling his name Daddy Dad whatever
else I am saying. And this poem
would not have such a portentous title
with death signalled so overtly
as though Jenny Agutter is up the track
waving her scarlet bloomers but but
for the Above – the landscape, the childhood,
The page you have requested is restricted to subscribers only. Please enter your username and password and click on 'Continue'.
If you have forgotten your username and password, please enter the email address you used when you joined. Your login
details will then be emailed to the address specified.
If you are already a member and have not received your login details, please email us,
including your name and address, and we will supply you with details of how to access the archived material.
If you are not a member and would like to enjoy the growing online archive of Stand Magazine
, containing poems, articles, prose and reviews,
why not subscribe
to the website today?