Sitting in my tiny first-floor bedsitter at 26 Parson Street, Cambridge, where I lived from 1966-1968, i could see a pear tree down in the back garden. this poem was taped to the side of the huge water tank cupboard, which was the largest piece of furniture. i was doing research into Dutch poetry at the time.
for non-readers of dutch: the title (trunk) is winter evening. the branches, reading downwards are: into sky-amber/rising/charred( carbonised)/tangled lungs/of a pear tree/your brooch. i was studying mirror imagery at the time - but i'm sure you have guessed that by now.
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