The Gone Poems

for Charlotte

By Simon Lichman

Good Night Daddy
I am very sorry about Gone -
Please come and kiss me in bed
Love Little Me

Israel v. Romania

for John and the Twins, 14/12/94

We cling to them
the men of pinstriped memory
cheering for our eleven
in the lunatic coldness of Saturday
afternoons.
Cling to their cigar and pipe smoke
mixed with monkey nuts and
Rowntree's Winegums
and to their encouragement calls (which
never made them hoarse).
We see them still
our Double Team of Dreams roaring
around a baggy pitch
smiles creasing at the seams
a tender slap across the back, "We did it
boys"
as guiltily we linger now beyond the
final whistle
instead of gliding out five minutes before
the end
according to arrangement.

Sinking In

29/5/2001

watching
the sun come up
over the Hermon
dusty sharav sky shading light
here in the North
where you spent my university years
visiting or visited
chasing another half-togetherness
half a falcon half a schooling
half a home

30/5/2001

so I do these chores
knowing that you'd envy
my standing at the sink
All spic and span
enjoy the search for clean spoons
shouldn't have wasted time
looking for photos of me
wonder at the agony
wonder (probably) at
the hugeness of the pain
think (possibly)
Right as usual, Lichman
but given it all to do again
I couldn't promise to not have done the
same.

Naming of Bears

31/5/2001

i

holding my children in your arms
to make whole the world unmade by
this assault
on all they've come to feel is
unassailable
each one burrowed down to clutch
in turn an ear bitten teddy bear
it is the thread they hold
to this other world
where you are sound
and they can wake to
'Hallo kids, sorry it's so short this time
what've we got for breakfast?'

ii

In deference they call them
Perfect John, Fuzzy John
and crooked John.

31/5/2001

as if you'd slipped away
on a fishing trip
and forgotten to write home
Gaugin leaving the stock exchange
to crop up fifty odd years later
when some sailorman
comes blazing home with canvasses
exchanged with a mad Frenchman
for a packet of Gauloise Bleu
he'd given up smoking long ago
in Whitstable or Morcambe Gardens
knowing there will be no discovery this
time
no fury at the wasted years
we wondered where you'd been
no sudden re-emergence
no rehabilitation.

Overcome Anger

31/5/2001

in remembering
your joy in the
before light
of pale sun
renew the gift of you
in each sight
of the worlds we run
every skirmish won
each moment
we've become

Free Man

31/5/2001

clung
to each other
as if the last in a
long line of brothers
although I've not got
one and yours is fine
clung to the space
some days apart
brothers in absence
brothers
in the knowledge
that beneath the form
we shared
the quarried heart.

Elijah John

1/6/2001

I
cling to
this sunny day
beside the school
hamsin air
of a white lead sky
heavy not in step nor heart
but someplace else -
she said you'd be round here
quick as a flash
open the door, Lichman
he's out there now
let him
in

Brothers In Sound

2/6/2001

a woodpecker plays his hammer-head
against a scraggly fir
towards Bethlehem a pigeon coos
a scruffy cat emerges from a snug
night's sleep
at the base of the jasmine bush
that winds its way around the garden
shed
the city stretching in the proverbial
sabbath light
picking out patches of scorched earth
deep green lemon leaves
and the surprising smudge of
pomegranate
getting ready for the new year.

Let's say John
that I can hear wood pigeons in the
Spinney
can see the charcoal burner's hut
from a cover of ferns on Stanmore
Common
and that the woodpeckers' rat-a-tat-tat
are rifles borrowed from our
hero fathers' stories
as we break from the silver birch
to enter the fray
once more.

Twin Engines

2/6/2001

but I
never thought
the plane they bought
for my birthday
would make its first trip
to your funeral
it's yellow propellers turning
and its red lights flashing
its silver panels sliding
through the sunset
of a real day.

Winston Seagull

30/5/2001

for my heart is over the ocean, John
my heart is over the sea
gulled homing spirit
not knowing where you are
you fool
not knowing where you are

Staying Power

2/6/2001

they
have no time
to pack their little treats
and know I can not
concentrate on puzzles
so they hold my hand
ask if I feel better
suggest I do not
worry this wound
that cannot heal
this breach in
all that
we held
real

Approach

2/6/2001

It is only over London
where the greying Thames
snakes around its bends
I realise this is not confusion
nor misunderstanding
this now is of the next moment
of the next day in the rest of sight
without you to ramble
through the sewer tracks of cities
amble through Armenian bazaars
chase the edge of every
window looked through
record the way it is
yesterday, next year

Landed

3/6/2001

large leafed fruit trees
colours green folding each other into
rhodadendrums, foxgloves
bluebells and hydrangeas
early light picking
up their pink and purple stand
moss in crevices of path
lichen-like on tiles of out house roofs
for I am here again English gardens
alive and feeling free
alive and breathing in the birdsong
breathing in the meaning
of gone John. Gone.

26/6/2001

i

This one tells me
how to differentiate between
the warblers and the dunnocks
the blackbirds and the wrens
the robins and the woodpeckers
ground ivy that does not climb
the English Oaks and fences
knows the inner workings
of this common ground
we occupied on
holidays and sundays
where now I stand
in a glade of silver birch
not knowing which path leads to home.

ii

Did
you know
that days before I
stood not listening
to one identify
each bird
calling
John, John, John?

John's Room

6/6/2001

at your desk
listening to the beeps and chimes
of family risings
the casual mess of tapes and teddy bears
Barmitzva pens
(parker, quink and watermans)
letters (miscellaneous)
miniature whiskey bottles and classic
cars
library stacked on library
and date machines (all wrong)

on your walls
camels waiting for the boats of Jaffa
a doodlebug hovers over Jerusalem
an apple shed lit in grey
England international tickets
Rome, Paris, Amsterdam
the autographed Double Team smiles
clear
but I'm really looking at this Sasa John
eyes at whoever
whoever sits at this desk
knows that I'm the organising
principle here.

Puzzle

7/6/2001

In all
these pictures
someone's on the move
whether horseback riding
through high grassland
or trudging through snow
with a load of firewood
balanced on a creaking back -
is that what drew you in John
the going somewhere
or the silent overcast
making their presence felt
despite the gathering
gloom?

Finding My Place

7/6/2001

I
clear up
for the mourners
put books on shelves
diaries in drawers
shovel loose change
into boxes
gather classic football matches
and romantic comedies
hoover floors, dust mantelpieces
move
clutter further up the stairs
prepare the space
for absence

Morcambe Gardens and Snaresbrook
Drive

7/6/2001

the way carpets scuff
the bottom of the door frames
where dust lies thick -
the way window sills suddenly
look inviting when they sparkle
and you hope to find roses
in the garden to set off
the fresh white paint
yes my friend
this May
cleaning brings me back
to where we started
standing against the needs
of stable homes and pension schemes.

N'oubliez Jamais

7/6/2001

thus I become the chronicler
of family after-glow
in the eyes of how you fared
still-alive fisher on your bike
etched into the harvest moon
of their eternal dance with you
their dance with you

7/6/2001

With your
friendship bracelets in place
they chasse¥ into tomorrow
giving delight
when
grief could conquer all

Unwarmed

8/6/2001

in the nondescript chapel
where the Dixiecups
were not married
and Elvis hadn't cried
for even a moment
harvesting the steel sounds
of undusted sunlight

the game of John

8/6/2001

i

smiles ironed into sides of mouth
debating steps and sliding order
the pace of passing weight
we arrange for extra spades
remove the billiard baize from neat clay
and get those backs into the real job
of burying friends with bended knee.

ii

for I wanted
to bury you ourselves
(as we buried Fay)
and once you were down
we dug away - dug away
it didn't take long my friend
it didn't take so long

8/6/2001

settling down
to the last hours in your home
the even softer sun slipping through
the skylight turns your room to honey
blending the books and desktop
into a quiet call for words
what should I say?

8/6/2001

1
Rebecca gives us
sandwiches for the road
brilliantly cut and buttered
to the edge
slivered cheese
and tomato slices laid on
a bed of fresh washed lettuce
expert at giving presents
where words won't do

2
Sarah falls into you
as she nudges out
the truth of how she feels
towards the displaced space
in which she reels

3
Jacob reads his books
and plays his games
as if he does not hear your tunes
wafting from
the battered cassette player
he's turned on beside the couch
from which he will not move.

4
Esther.
Esther isn't seen within
her shock of fisher curls
eyeing the world for signs
to retain
and
treasure in herself.

The Robin

26/6/2001

She watches
birds congregating
on the earth and scrub
trying to identify them
with her book
and Latin binoculars
for in retrieving each
perhaps she calls
see who's come
home with me
woodpecker
blackbird
magpie
wren

Brought

9/6/2001

from
capital vastness
and the crispness
of springtime voice
for you have
drowned my friend
off the Hellespont
coming up for air
at Canary wharf
in the dawnlight cry of
Smithfield Covent Garden
Five Johns for half a crown.
Gone John
from London Town

The Blessing: Returned

10/6/2001

It isn't Finn Rowan
(great nephew)
or Alona
(great niece)
that makes the old saying
when one dies one is born
seem true
but the pigeon nesting in my office
on the top bookshelf
(two eggs)
frightened out of her confinement
by this huge animal
who seems familiar with the sanctuary
she's occupied since I've been away.

when out of blue comes Mervyn Bloch

13/6/01

expressing horror I barely
feel so numb it's all become
at seeing the wrong John
(surname the same)
called up to read the law
usurp part of himself
unused for many a year

The John Hour of the Day

14/6/2001

We wake
in our separate places
at four or six thirty
for our morning conversation
or a quiet meditation
I must mend the fishing tackle
and untangle kite strings
clear the breakfast rubble
and last night's photographs
face the rising sun
this day not yet begun
over that part
of the British Empire
it no longer shines upon.

John Hour 2

23/6/2001

come round imagining
his presence in birdsí twitter
or the distant hum of traffic
he must be threading his way through
on his bicycle to work
or wait for his warmth to re-emerge
after a midnight outing to the toilet -
I know she is there
and this is not a lonely time
we have told each other how
the hour beckons with more insistence
than the alarm of morning
for if we do not wake
he will have gone again

Hares and Hound

the trick of this John
was how we missed you
when we thought we had you
felt the buzz around
wondered at the absence
when you
went to ground

John Hour 3

8/7/2001

or twenty to six Columbus time
five thirty Canadienne
when red cardinals and yellow finch
flit through the rain
ruffling live-oak leaves
or midnight when the screech owls hoot
and the fireflies do their magic
before and after sleep
behind the latticework of my right hand
no matter what the hour recognising
how on the other side of oceans
she moves through this time of day
knows it holds no meaning
knows that part of you has found a way
to stay

One Man Band

inot to follow
every harvest beat
would be to turn you off
would be to let you
slip away

ii

put on the song
turn up the sound
and there you are cavorting
through the afternoon
feet of the ground
caught in the wire of your curls
and ready to snap into the wild
grace of finely tuned swans
gliding up the Cherwell.

East Village Sunrise

8/8/2001

that
and in the actual hour
tussled by the angel head wondering
how to fly into our final words
tell us about Daddy and the cigarettes
tell us about the sticklebacks of
Honeypot Lane
how he jotted notes in long black diaries
on the
dimensions of Britain's only landlocked
harbour
how he framed the little things
what brought that wicked grin to play
what made him grumpy
how he shaped the bits of life
he showed you
how to hold.

Self Portrait Between Birthdays

10/5/2002

the
gentle paul
of simon fame
drifts quiet and simple
through the house with
fir and eucalyptus above
the garden shed
set up on a blue cloth covering
Aunt Caroline's green table
peter rabbit mug
of steaming tea
top left
I tinker with the poems
you've left behind