Death of a Poet

Bill Manhire

i.m. Charles Causley

Between the Tamar and the tarmac,
Beneath a tangled sky,
I saw the Cornish poet
Walking by.

He went where wind and water
Will not be overthrown,
Where light and water meet
Boscastle stone.

It was a day in deep November
When the cold came.
The cold sky squandered
Inside his brain.

Who knocks at Cyprus Well?
Who knocks again, again?
‘I think it is the visitor
We must not name.’

Oh men who fish are fishing
and men of tin are gone
yet men will walk on Bodmin
and hear his song.

The great world makes its changes
And yet remains the same;
And poets’ verses will unwind
The tangle in the brain.