Love, Life, Death and After
The Poetry of William Oliphant 1920 - 2004
1 August 2019
Rats At Sea
Labels:
poems,
poet,
poetry,
politics,
William Oliphant
11 November 2018
31 October 2018
TO A DESCENDANT READING MY POEMS
Looking for me?
I posed for posterity.
I used words to cover my tracks.
Did my sincerity
sufficiently conceal my truth?
Can you deduce what I was then
from idiosyncratic
verses
and a few ambiguous titles?
Can you deduce what
I am now
from what you have deduced from then?
Is that too much like sifting ancient light
to find a long-gone distant star?
Then, I was X (I marked my spot)
modified by youth and age and vanity
and love and suffering and indifference.
Now, I am X modified by my purposes,
as you are Y trapped in your own contexts.
Where X equals Pure Me,
and Y equals Pure You,
there is nothing
stands between us,
only time.
28 September 2017
National Poetry Day 2017
Labels:
freedom,
Glasgow,
innocence,
national poetry day,
poetry,
politics,
protest,
relationship,
Scots,
William Oliphant
6 May 2017
14 November 2016
Finding The Join
If
You can't,
You won't.
But if
you are curious
about what happens
between
twenty-three-sixty
and
treble-oh-oh,
or
what goes into
the crack separating
the last of May
from
the first of June,
then
you are in for
a lifetime of
sideroads and
alleyways
and strange people
and stranger
experiences and
finally,
perhaps after you die,
it will all
become clear and
you
will
understand.
You can't,
You won't.
But if
you are curious
about what happens
between
twenty-three-sixty
and
treble-oh-oh,
or
what goes into
the crack separating
the last of May
from
the first of June,
then
you are in for
a lifetime of
sideroads and
alleyways
and strange people
and stranger
experiences and
finally,
perhaps after you die,
it will all
become clear and
you
will
understand.
Labels:
afterlife,
curiosity,
death,
life,
meaning,
poet,
poetry,
Scottish,
spirituality,
William Oliphant
18 October 2016
21 March 2016
Pastorale
Labels:
Glasgow,
Highland cows,
pastorale,
poetry,
Scots,
Spring,
William Oliphant,
World Poetry Day 2016
World Poetry Day 2016
Labels:
earth,
moon,
poetry,
poets,
William Oliphant,
World Poetry Day 2016
14 February 2016
Valentine
Labels:
heart,
love,
lovers,
poet,
poetry,
unconditional love,
William Oliphant
11 November 2015
My War So Long Ago
image from the Peace Pledge Union www.ppu.org.uk |
So many round me leading
And I not led.
My living spilt,
So many round me bleeding
And I unbled.
My sorrow's quilt,
So many round me crying,
My tears unshed.
My touch of guilt,
So many round me dying
And I not dead.
Labels:
armistice day,
death,
life,
peace,
poetry,
poppies,
remembrance,
war,
William Oliphant
14 August 2015
Meditation
Autumn Tree- Mull © Judith Murray |
And sought
The tree-ness
Of the tree
And found the tree's
Own search to be
The me-ness
Of the me.
Labels:
Meditation,
poet,
poetry,
Trees,
William Oliphant
31 July 2015
14 June 2015
Anniversary
Labels:
anniversary,
love,
poet,
poetry,
Scottish,
William Oliphant
30 May 2015
13 May 2015
16 March 2015
For Robin Oliphant 1933 - 2015
Today we say goodbye to Robin Oliphant, Artist (and Grandpa's wee brother) who died on Sunday 8th March at the age of 81.
Step lightly through the magic door to friends,
Nor yet regret the room you are to leave.
Dream more of new beginnings than of ends.
Though going, and your imprint's loss offends,
And you ever reluctant to bereave,
Step lightly through the magic door to friends.
And if the blanket of the past descends,
Seduces you to sorrow and to grieve,
Dream more of new beginnings than of ends.
Those old men cashing wisdom's dividends,
Recalling what a foreguard can achieve,
Step lightly through the magic door to friends.
And, seeing with perception that transcends
The images myopic eyes perceive,
Dream more of new beginnings than of ends.
Consider then, as your last pace impends,
The greetings you are likely to receive.
Step lightly through the magic door to friends,
Dream more of new beginnings than of ends.
The Magic Door
Step lightly through the magic door to friends,
Nor yet regret the room you are to leave.
Dream more of new beginnings than of ends.
Though going, and your imprint's loss offends,
And you ever reluctant to bereave,
Step lightly through the magic door to friends.
And if the blanket of the past descends,
Seduces you to sorrow and to grieve,
Dream more of new beginnings than of ends.
Those old men cashing wisdom's dividends,
Recalling what a foreguard can achieve,
Step lightly through the magic door to friends.
And, seeing with perception that transcends
The images myopic eyes perceive,
Dream more of new beginnings than of ends.
Consider then, as your last pace impends,
The greetings you are likely to receive.
Step lightly through the magic door to friends,
Dream more of new beginnings than of ends.
Labels:
death,
family,
love,
poetry,
Robin Oliphant,
William Oliphant
25 September 2014
Before The Holocaust
So society puts a small boy with ambition
In charge of a button marker DANGER,
And knowing that he is a smart politician
Goes back to its trough and its manger.
But a small boy plays games, adopts roles and acts parts
And, as boys do, grows up tall and broad,
Plays with diamonds and spades and with clubs and with hearts
And has been been known to play God.
And sometimes a role or a part doesn't suit,
And here are the visions that linger:
The petulant stamp of a petulant foot
And the petulant thrust of a finger.
And knowing that he is a smart politician
Goes back to its trough and its manger.
But a small boy plays games, adopts roles and acts parts
And, as boys do, grows up tall and broad,
Plays with diamonds and spades and with clubs and with hearts
And has been been known to play God.
And sometimes a role or a part doesn't suit,
And here are the visions that linger:
The petulant stamp of a petulant foot
And the petulant thrust of a finger.
17 July 2014
A Course Of Action
Something must be done!
Something drastic, something
to assuage the bleak, black guilt
felt for all the whales, the dolphins
flown to their icarus suns,
for all the black babes in Africa
metamorphosed into
matchstick men by fat, white
market forces everywhere,
for all the blistered lungs,
the profitably powdered
living bone, the purple pulp
of the imploding, pulsing flesh
of peasants in three continents.
Something must be done.
Something personal to me,
and enraged symbology,
a protest with posters,
a suicidal leap perhaps
from a ground-floor window.
Something drastic, something
to assuage the bleak, black guilt
felt for all the whales, the dolphins
flown to their icarus suns,
for all the black babes in Africa
metamorphosed into
matchstick men by fat, white
market forces everywhere,
for all the blistered lungs,
the profitably powdered
living bone, the purple pulp
of the imploding, pulsing flesh
of peasants in three continents.
Something must be done.
Something personal to me,
and enraged symbology,
a protest with posters,
a suicidal leap perhaps
from a ground-floor window.
13 June 2014
How About A Poem
Something of beauty
in its sounds,
in its images.
Profound
in its meanings,
in its insights.
Evocative
of deep feeling,
of soul-searching.
A touch of melancholy
for the melancholy man.
Earnest,
concerned,
AND FATALLY FLAWED.
Intent on telling the tales
of the saint who grassed
to the secret police
on his father's politics,
and the angel
in the bar of Heaven,
masturbating.
in its sounds,
in its images.
Profound
in its meanings,
in its insights.
Evocative
of deep feeling,
of soul-searching.
A touch of melancholy
for the melancholy man.
Earnest,
concerned,
AND FATALLY FLAWED.
Intent on telling the tales
of the saint who grassed
to the secret police
on his father's politics,
and the angel
in the bar of Heaven,
masturbating.
Labels:
cynic,
philosophy,
poet,
poetry,
politics,
William Oliphant,
words
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