Richard Moult

In the clearing, I am reminded why I am here: The Masque of Fir and Birch, scattered and spacious; The noiseless Snipe, veering away Allowing stillness to be regained; The hermitic rocks enclosed by the Heather Which wakes after the Sun has left its Northern House But most of all, no other human To desecrate, as I do, the hallowed quietus. Here, a tiny pool among many others Where bubbles silver without sound The kenotic blackness of the water. The […]

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The Moon floods the ruinous garden Where I had strewn the debris of some former life; Crowbar, axe, wheelbarrow, fire… The freezing air vitalises, but overnight, the primula slumps to the grass Bearing the appearance of death. Out of respect, I keep my clumsiness away from this sleeper. Awake, my coal-dusted hands – which cannot be cleaned, no matter how much I scrub – Pull the door upon the night, and I lie within a bed made cold: I dreamt […]

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Petrified cloud, blasted slate-grey and rose by ice So high as to appear an airship, static. Only in Winter weather do such clouds shape From the space between themselves and the stars, The nearest mirroring of ourselves: On their side, the Silence, to our Voice. The emptiness within the shed, between wood and ground Is like that space, there at the beginning as the empty grave Until I fill it gradually with a violence (Which moves me to paint upon […]

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  The second movement of a suite for Piano and Strings, from Chamber Music Volume 2. He replied: “I, a call sounding out in forsaken places, straightening the way for the Master, just as Isaiah the Prophet said.” Gospel Of John I:23, translated by D.W. Myatt.

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