by Martha Landman
 |
| Arthur Rimbaud 20 October 1854 - 10 November 1891 |
I’m the only visitor today,
small cemetery, speechless graves,
Your mailbox at the gate is full of fan-letters,
as if you’re the tooth fairy or some god.
It is wet and cold and my shoes
gave me hell on the walk here.
Tomorrow I’ll wear my sandals, rain or not.
There’s lots I could ask you, but not here,
not today where you lie helplessly dead
on a peaceful summer’s afternoon,
violet eyes shrouded in eternal sleep,
in the same plot with your mother
and seventeen-year-old Vitalie.
Come to the cobbled square with me tonight.
Let’s dine and dance and have a quiet beer,
no absinthe, no hashish. Afterwards we’ll walk
along the river Meuse under chestnut trees,
past the mill, step into the tanner’s little boat
at the quay. Let’s sail into the flimsy air,
set the night on fire, our reflections on the water,
you melding into me, the moon our lamp.
Let’s write formless verse about our years in Africa,
mine as a child, yours as a merchant, explorer.
I promise I won’t ask what I know you won’t tell
—why did you give up poetry?
Martha Landman writes in Adelaide, South Australia on unceded Kaurna land. Her first single collection like scavenger birds was published by ICOE press, June 2023. Her poem “Girl From the Underground” (for Arthur Rimbaud) was highly commended in the WA Poetry d’Amour contest in August 2024.
small cemetery, speechless graves,
Your mailbox at the gate is full of fan-letters,
as if you’re the tooth fairy or some god.
It is wet and cold and my shoes
gave me hell on the walk here.
Tomorrow I’ll wear my sandals, rain or not.
There’s lots I could ask you, but not here,
not today where you lie helplessly dead
on a peaceful summer’s afternoon,
violet eyes shrouded in eternal sleep,
in the same plot with your mother
and seventeen-year-old Vitalie.
Come to the cobbled square with me tonight.
Let’s dine and dance and have a quiet beer,
no absinthe, no hashish. Afterwards we’ll walk
along the river Meuse under chestnut trees,
past the mill, step into the tanner’s little boat
at the quay. Let’s sail into the flimsy air,
set the night on fire, our reflections on the water,
you melding into me, the moon our lamp.
Let’s write formless verse about our years in Africa,
mine as a child, yours as a merchant, explorer.
I promise I won’t ask what I know you won’t tell
—why did you give up poetry?
Martha Landman writes in Adelaide, South Australia on unceded Kaurna land. Her first single collection like scavenger birds was published by ICOE press, June 2023. Her poem “Girl From the Underground” (for Arthur Rimbaud) was highly commended in the WA Poetry d’Amour contest in August 2024.
