Warning: Illegal string offset 'lang' in /home/daffodil/davidselzer.com/wp-content/plugins/keyword-statistics/keyword-statistics.php on line 353

Warning: Illegal string offset 'keywords' in /home/daffodil/davidselzer.com/wp-content/plugins/keyword-statistics/keyword-statistics.php on line 354

Warning: Illegal string offset 'description' in /home/daffodil/davidselzer.com/wp-content/plugins/keyword-statistics/keyword-statistics.php on line 356

Warning: Illegal string offset 'lang' in /home/daffodil/davidselzer.com/wp-content/plugins/keyword-statistics/keyword-statistics.php on line 353

Warning: Illegal string offset 'keywords' in /home/daffodil/davidselzer.com/wp-content/plugins/keyword-statistics/keyword-statistics.php on line 354

Warning: Illegal string offset 'description' in /home/daffodil/davidselzer.com/wp-content/plugins/keyword-statistics/keyword-statistics.php on line 356
David Selzer – Page 92 – Writer of Poetry, Screen Plays, Stage Plays & Fiction – page 92
Sign up with your email address to be the first to know about new products, VIP offers, blog features & more.

‘A WINDY DAY’ & ‘A CALM MORNING’

 

A WINDY DAY, J.M.W.TURNER Tabley, the seat of Sir J.F. Leicester

They bought up land, made marriages, dispossessed

tenants and built their fortune on rents.

These commissions mark their zenith. Since then,

the estate has been sold off acre by

acre, piece by piece – one Turner remains,

the other hangs in another museum.

Some things are unchanged: in the distance,

the house’s palladian exterior

in local sandstone, the round turreted

folly on the small island in the lake –

share

IN THE COMPASS OF A PALE

With branch, stalk, thorns, by a dry summer’s

overgrowth obscured, in one unkempt border,

a rose – traditional, heart red – bloomed.

Over tall weeds and grasses, tangled, brittle,

I leant to pluck it, found it blown, blooded,

a bouquet of wormy petals – left it

blighted, inviolate. Where the black gate

hinged to the wall banking our garden,

coffin-sized, skeletal leaves gathered,

whispering, stones, stones. Come winter, frost fissured

bricks and luxurious, pitchy earth sprinkled.

share

LA CLEF DES CHAMPS

'La Clef Des Champs,' René Magritte, 1936



When the landscape breaks, shards of painted trees,

clouds, turf cascade in crystal slabs onto

the carpet – and the landscape is there still

on the next pane. Over the brow of the rise

are the world’s kingdoms: deserts silenced

by polished bone; uneasy rooms where

sepia furniture flowers; canvas; wood;

the gallery’s wall solid as money –

asservir le bourgeoisie through draughtmanship.

share

BEASTLINESS

‘…hardly any Jews!’, The Matabele Campaign 1896,
Colonel R.S.S. Baden-Powell, Methuen, London, 1897


The British in Africa seem always

to have verged on the comical. There was

BP chasing a Matabele girl

through bush. He was ahorse, she on foot.

In tranquillity, he sketched the scene – the girl

bare-footed and -breasted, himself at a

gallop – for publication. She escaped –

but Rhodesia was made safe for Cecil,

the continent for Aids and exploitation.

share

THE WAR ON TERROR

 

2001

Riding the F Train that August –

from Queens to Manhattan, Jamaica

Estates to Times Square – were all

of the hues and tongues and tribes and faiths.

Dead at our door, on our return,

wings stretched as if in flight,

lay a hen harrier, a female.

You chose to bury it gently

in the warm September earth.

Five thousand miles away,

share

ON THE NATURE OF THINGS

From the terrace at Polesden Lacey, it was

the guttural calls caught our attention –

then sheep flowing fast over rising ground

like a pale yellow banner in the wind,

then the shepherd himself, then his dogs

flattening themselves at his command.

By the time we reached the valley bottom,

the beasts were penned – lambs from ewes,

the latter funnelled for the shearers.

The bleating drowned the whirring of the clippers.

From the high bridge over the Tweed at Kelso,

share