Dafuto Igirisuhito


I burnt the knuckle
of my right index finger
toasting crumpets

I should have used the electric toaster
but someone said they were better
cooked under the grill

It would not heal
yesterday it bled and scabbed
miniature beach-scape debris

I picked it of course
rolled the dried crust
between my fingers

Dropped it
onto the cover of
Post War Japanese Poetry

Almost the same shade
as the raised edge of the Sun
where it blends with the names

Ayukawa
Miyoshi
Kitamura




    Narcissus Pseudonarcissus (Echopraxis)


he only pretended to gaze
at himself in the water

                    if she wanted
                    she could have
                    said something original

Theory suggests it was the image
that pretended to gaze at him

                    maybe it would be clever
                    or at least a way
                    of not sounding ridiculous

the function of reflection being to appear
to appear in the glass while remaining nubilous

                    answering by repeating the question
                    steering the fine line between receiving
                    the hard word or the soft silence

known but not knowing
would it have any sense of itself?

                    they might have made a handsome pair
                    cocktails and eye contact
                    ending possibilities endless

self is a slippery concept when talking of
the face in the water never the same twice

                    but whatever it was a shame
                    to hear her vowels dwindle
                    instead of her consonants egress

even if it were ever a single thing
what unity can be required of ripples?

                    the negotiations never began
                    positions were not taken
                    the eyes never eyeballed

from nymph to imago
echoes without origin

                    maybe by walking away
                    her vanishing point would have
                    drawn his attention

self repeated
seduced reduplicated

                    caught in his own reflection
                    again eye in itself
                    imagined image imagined

 


[Tim Plant first came to public knowledge as a subject of the ‘SPYCOPS’ undercover infiltration of left wing political organisations in the UK, beginning in the late 1960s. At that time, he was assessed as ‘a waste of time’.

Despite all of his efforts, this remains true even, or perhaps, especially today, as the most rudimentary search of the internet will demonstrate. 

In 2013 after a long bureaucratic career, he gained the degree of Master of Arts (with Distinction)  in Creative Writing from the University of Sheffield, which surely confirms the earlier judgement of the intelligence services. 

He currently grumbles and grunts along as part of Juxtavoices, Sheffield’s legendary antichoir.]

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