One of the interesting things, for me, about the recent Poetry & Jazz evening in Enfield was being asked to include two or three poems I’d never read to music before. And one of these – a poem that, although it’s included in the New & Selected, I tend to overlook, is “Blue Settee”.
Here it is …
This kiss is made of remembering,
of not quite remembering enough;
this lies kiss deep in her pocket,
amongst the cinema tickets and small change;
the movement of his mouth that rarely
seems to mesh with hers – strangely, she likes this –
the way they use their tongues.
This kiss starts at the nape of the neck
and makes a new map of the world;
moves them from the clumsy darkness
of the hall into failing sunlight
where they practise compass movements
on the bed, their way lit by candles
and Chardonnay, his tongue crossing hers
mid-ocean as she turns beneath him
and floats free; their breath sounding
an itinerary of Irish Sea, Atlantic Ocean,
and on down the coast of Maine.
Timetables. Taxis. A blue settee.
The sweep and blur of skin.
She could tell him anything.