The Metaphysics of a Vegetarian Supper

The Metaphysics of a

Vegetarian Supper

Andrew Taylor

2 | T h e M e t a p h y s i c s o f a V e g e t a r i a n S u p p e r


Vegetarian Supper

By Andrew Taylor

Differentia Press

Santa Maria, CA


The Metaphysics of a Vegetarian Supper

By Andrew Taylor

Copyright © 2009

All Rights Reserved.

Published by Differentia Press

Book Design by Felino A. Soriano

Cover Image, courtesy of William Fallows

Except for the sole purpose for use in reviews, no portion of this book may be reproduced in any

form, without the written permission from the publisher.

Differentia Press

Santa Maria, CA 93458

[email protected]

Differentia Press Poetic Collections of the

│Experimental Spectrum│

differentiapress.com


Acknowledgements:

Some of these poems, or versions of the poems, have appeared or are forthcoming in the

following publications:

Thirteen Myna Birds, Counterexample Poetics, Full of Crow, Lit Up, Willows Wept Review,

Gists and Piths, The Houston Literary Review, Side of Grits, Pages, Neon Highway, Radiant

Turnstile, Gloom Cupboard, The Red Ceilings, Shoots and Vines, and Motel 58, and escarp.

Grateful thanks to the editors.

Thanks to Edge Hill University Poetry and Poetics Research Group, David McNamara, William

Fallows, Ursula Hurley, Alan Corkish, Sam Smith, Lara Konesky, Felino Soriano, James Scott,

Nik and William and Edna Taylor.


Table of Contents

She Strokes Bees______________________________________________________________10

Endanger Fencing_____________________________________________________________11

Strummer Telecaster___________________________________________________________12

Dial 9 for an Outside Line______________________________________________________13

Dripping in the House of Memory________________________________________________14

Empty Ring Finger____________________________________________________________15

We Paint While You Sleep______________________________________________________16

Spanish Notes________________________________________________________________17

Tea Box_____________________________________________________________________18

The Dry Ocean_______________________________________________________________19

the third button down is stitched with red thread_____________________________________20

M6 Stafford Services…________________________________________________________21

My own private motorway,…____________________________________________________22

Watford Gap grass…__________________________________________________________23

There is no need for a torch_____________________________________________________24

Lent________________________________________________________________________25

This Land is Reserved for Future Use_____________________________________________26

There are Kites_______________________________________________________________27

Medicine Bottle_______________________________________________________________28

In Heels she feels closer to God__________________________________________________29

Motionless Outtake____________________________________________________________30

Knitbone____________________________________________________________________31

To A Fox II__________________________________________________________________32

Been listening to the Palies have you?_____________________________________________33

Pitching Camp________________________________________________________________34


For Rachel Smith




Vegetarian Supper



She Strokes Bees

She strokes bees they must know

of course we do angel mark

faded in sunshine beyond the fringe

shaded face beneath cap follow

the flight of butterflies as they seek

buddleia growing on wasteland

“What colour are the flowers?”

“Black”

“No, what colour are the flowers?”

“Black”

A keen eye spotting planes dots to me

On the telephone mast starlings gather

are they being fried slowly

or is it convenient parking?

It gets better every time we meet


Endanger Fencing

A blinding division walk the Brecon Beacons

amongst pale horses at Easter

creatures caught in traps shot in the back

of the head a countryside of carnage

from the beginning hotels near Heathrow

twenty four hour rolling news

a chance to study war how I’d have liked you

to walk with me around cities at night

drinking whiskey and listening to shock

radio like a bad mistake I ponder

anonymous scream pilots descend

at half mile intervals in a seated night

I was unaware that you would wait for me

like the ghost ration of a slow light I isolate


Strummer Telecaster

Vini’s guitar fills the house

notes scatter like autumn leaves

Fidelity in Manchester

shopping with my Mother

a city on the edge of change

Ruth Another Setting

her room Linacre Lane

beginning of it all guitars

and other machines samples

of opera singers played in

remote Scottish cottages

when she left I assumed

the position under the coffee

table keeping reality at the door

space echo guitar

cat

companion saviours both

my country

will you ever recover?

my heart


Dial 9 for an Outside Line

Across rooftops spire cuts

into clear evening sky

common edged technology

amasses through wires

into the chest

battery powered 6-10 years

shadows fall away

fingerprints are left on desks

ice melts slowly in an engraved glass

flowers sway in the churchyard after dark

basement desk holds mementos

pacemaker amongst the relics

memoirs gather dust

space for unrestricted breath

low light design studio productiveness

dial 9 for an outside line

fading of traffic calm at the junction

new recordings to add to catalogue

roads are flooded passing an impossibility

a smell of autumn eroding at last

the pressure of summer


Dripping in the House of Memory

In the upstairs kitchen tap drips

the one that reminds me of Herbert Huncke

and the Chelsea Hotel

In Manchester a leak in the roof

provides water to be collected in a glass

and thought about

Hermit white room a House of memory

40 days 40 nights without human contact

Even you tramps and beggars

Thank you Manchester

Everyone needs some help at times

even you

What’s with the bunny in the window?

The nature of mind is clear light

There is contact I see the Hermitage

at this time of night the laptop screen lights

the way to the hermit


Empty Ring Finger

I notice the earrings first

the heat makes it look like I’ve a tan

She crosses near the prison

bass drum doubles its beat

city feels like L.A. in August

but this is Liverpool in June

Is love the size of a shoebox?

scratched inside forever etched

birds drift away with the tide

as night drops temperature

remains neon of Hardman Street

advertising refreshment

come on you can dance I’m waiting

with modern modes of communication


We Paint While You Sleep

Shortest night these long hours

a comfort to know while we sleep

the furies gather amongst the dunes

tide and wind sand against

walls of supermarkets

yellow neon bright to sea

patch of non-illumination

a field in North Wales

Dawn rising over rocks off the coast

those rocks belong to all of us

orange sky cracks appear horizon

drops into day screech of morning birds

all the big trees harbour secrets

and twine is washed up on the shore


Spanish Notes

I left DNA behind in Spain

skin was shed after dousing

with Factor 60

Balcony sat towels set to dry

a cat stared through railings

while indoors a makeshift

kettle boiled master craftsmen

at work realizing a

long dead architect’s dream

Numbers randomized a hidden code

dig the guidebooks out!

towers of scaffold encased

I am reminded of a job unfinished


Tea Box

Marty has grown a bushy beard

Jonny says beards are shit (except

ZZ Top) and that Kilbey looks like

one of his old managers

Tunes are ace

If she was alive would she read

the poems? How about remembering

music listened to in the cottage

the small details are beginning to fade

like a flag tied to a pole too long

no longer on the list the name is

removed

pony tailed girl wears heart

shaped earrings


The Dry Ocean

The room smells of paint

easiest days of her life have been spent

but here light shifts across a dusty desk

in the desert a hare freezes mid-air

goal posts tape wrapped cross-bar

a horse stops mid-gallop

earth tilts canal-side railings guard

leaves to concrete in three minutes

just radio, tea and dim lights

written in blue: melatonin and glasses

here lava-lamp like rain patterns

scroll across the desk

autumn leaves a dry ocean on fresh tarmac


the third button down is stitched with red thread

It is the finest of details

the kind that emerge after

careful consideration

open the brown paper parcel

follow the arc of the rose

as it heads towards the snow

making an angel of its own

a rocking chair comes to rest

out the window the shimmer of air

as darkness falls defusing light

from across the valley


M6 Stafford Services North twilight mirrored reflection a hint of neon cold walk through car-

park for supplies and hot coffee


My own private motorway, from childhood football after construction to arrival at Wigan

homeward bound, clear route past the roundabout town


Watford Gap grass verge through coffee steam, reassurance of traffic noise, knowing we are an

hour away - the beauty of the service station


There is no need for a torch

There is no need for a torch

the whiteness of the fields

allows the eye to settle

spot the amber lights of the horizon

through the swirling snow

Quite what I’m doing here is almost a mystery

walking through the fields to the church

on a Winter’s eve

Almost medieval this weather though

the glow of the pub enticing in its simplicity

offers a heightened sense of modernity

Returning past the former houses

of friends long gone

a hint of wood smoke allows

for the collection of memories that evaporate

through the iced tips of hedgerows


Lent

I hear the planet crying such Teen Angst

withdraw from use

allow for repair a reconstruction of the senses

amidst the sunshine there will be showers

a blue box of magic tricks

modulator synthesis

forty days forty nights forty lines

this time of year available light

precursor to walking city rivers skimming pebbles

wish for a clearer way

like a leaf circling around the deer shelter

and the poppy towering above the tall grass


This Land is Reserved for Future Use

Alone with the last of the light

blue through aged stained glass windows

Company glass of amber the tulips are opened fully

language of the ordinary recorded in a Wisconsin Cabin

listened to and read in a small Victorian garden

a visiting family of French people

Like the Manchester Hermit solitude

reflection can be achieved on a Virgin Pendolino

though the South carries its own dangers

out of sight and out of mind the golden child

offers more than can be expected

Come winter and the basket is prepared with fuel

draughts a reminder small globe shows the scale

We are miniscule and scattered around

one part of a tiny island

the tree has its desired branch as one leaf falls

elsewhere a bud is forming as replacement

what about those no longer here do they see the curtains slowly closing?

on the wall there is a photograph of my bride

signing the register


There are Kites

on beaches catching the breeze

keyboard girl’s chain and artificial sun

in the music hall

I open the dictionary given to me

on my 7th

birthday it contains letters

from her written in 1986

handwriting distinct it changed

before she died almost unrecognisable

on the postcard she sent from Llandudno

she disguised it and fooled me

I thought it would all work out in the end

on wet sand somebody has made squares

out of pebbles

perhaps in remembrance


Medicine Bottle

Not wanting to die without telling

or seeing the Star Room

red neon over Union Square

from a 32nd

floor balcony

forget little beds I want

to lounge luxuriously in cool cotton

Don’t drink the medicine

The ether will drag you into

an Alaskan pipeline of addiction

red and white blood and snow

evening comforter drifter

One minute you are a statue

the next a pigeon

Always read the label


In Heels she feels closer to God

She stands hand on hip

surveying

all below angled towards

the northern star

Stellar reaction

amidst the cables

artificiality

leg angled strap slung

top riding high ‘California’

pink flowers emit

the smell of death

like lilies

surrounded by candles

Amongst the detritus

of the Lower East Side

a vigil where green haired girls

compare tattoos

and share their drugs

until the candles meet their end

Hit so hard

she sees stars

and wishes him alive


Motionless Outtake

for Alex

Pylons anchored through the Vale

coated during nightfall

drips tainted back to earth

from the peaks clouds cushion

pylons cut

a rising grey catch tint of sun

up here a stillness

reflected in arc of vapour trail


Knitbone

the process needs assessment

the liquid is dark green

smells of eucalyptus

a need to be healed

take all the precautions necessary

bathe in lavender foam

reading and trying to unwind

and avoid dreaming of a past

involving ocean views

at Half Moon Bay

city vistas from the 86th

floor

coffee from Peet's

doughnuts from Krispy Kreme

a time when the future was bright

heat surrounds as pages turn

offering a glimpse into

the other side of the American Dream

I think about writing

through the difficulty

epically moving this soundtrack


To A Fox II

Autumn falls lanes

drop darkness

hedgerows trimmed

fields ploughed

in preparation

Roadside awareness

flash of white

twilight nocturne image

of a moment

nice moment actually, dusk was falling,

lovely watery sunset which was very enigmatic

amongst the overgrown runway strip......

also managed to locate abandoned buildings

that formed the old hospital site on the airfield

in amongst some woods......very, very scary though.

En-route accompanied

chatter of engine whistle

of rack scratched inside

journey reinterpretation

Sleek tell-tale signs

Unhexed through lanes

a darkened memory

trimmed hedgerows

ploughed fields an escape route

(With thanks to Antony Harding)


Been listening to the Palies have you?

Of course there is absolutely

nothing wrong with listening

to The Pale Fountains in fact

it should be encouraged

particularly on hot summer days

when the fields sway heavily

and the daylight goes on and on

reflecting shadows long across

motorway verges encouraging

shelter

25 years listen on

watch midwinter Manhattan a

temporary writing

room wonder about the futility of

holding onto things that should

be cast off and thought about differently

the pound is worthless against the dollar

they are stripping the Chelsea Hotel

of its history in an effort to make more money

room 211 is partly demolished

How clever


Pitching Camp

Veering on early morning runs

to walk in old cemeteries

people have lived died and were loved

the city is historical artefact

seek a local tavern for chowder

attempt to fill a notebook page

in anticipation the scheme of things

inconsequential the smallness

of a speck of dust on a railway line

or a fly on a cactus

a pointer of universality

She feels as though her heart is

walking around in front of her

whereas I feel as though mine is melting


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The Metaphysics of a Vegetarian Supper