For some years I have been deeply moved and impressed by the poems of a fellow-Australian, Dennis Greene. Dennis is seriously afflicted by what was early-onset Parkinson's. He has the depth and elegance of those rare, true-poets whom we talk about on this thread.
I emailed Dennis's latest poem to Tim Murphy who replied:
Put it on Mastery.BANNED POST It is unspeakably simple and beautiful.BANNED POST Thanks so much for sending this.
Here is the poem. The grace and spareness is characteristic of many of Dennis's poems.
..........
The House Was Hill
The house was hill and road and view,
it grew a tree in summertime;
it turned into a boat that sailed
and left me at the harbour’s side.
Now I’ve become a winter’s tale,
a twig that grows where trees have died.
I live inside grey slate on stone,
the house is empty, cold, and mine.
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