DAVID MITCHELL

Old song

old song

upstairs
the guests are rising
from the long table . . . 

voices drift
as if across the years

there comes
the scraping of the chairs
the brittle whisper
of the wineglasses
the muted shriek
of a child; the mild
roar
of an old man
&    laughter
       laughter

like iced water
in a stone jar . . .

the host shrugs
& turns up the eye
as if to say
( with a sigh )

‘ they are as they are ’

voices drift
for an instant
along the staves
of afternoon
lightly 
lightly

all in the gathering blue

. . .  its a snatch of old song
                  comes drifting through . . . 

myth has it
the old lady woke at 4 p.m.
‘ is it the revolution ? ’
she wanted to know . . . 
( ‘ soon / madam / soon
  it wont be long ’ )

the maid served pernod.

upstairs
the guests are rising
from the long table . . .

clarinet, fiddle
soprano

bassoon . . .

‘ come nellie / come
            hannah
  come sasha
  come june

a little piece for the visit
& the rising of the moon ! ’

outside
in the geometric shade
beneath the bare vine of winter

the apprenticed lute
he
sits alone

honing the blade
honing the blade

all in the gathering blue

. . . its a snatch of old song
                  comes drifting through . . .

myth has it
the old man woke at 6 p.m.
‘ what news / what news
  from the coast ? ’

( soon / master / soon
  . . .  it wont be long )

they gathered round
they drank a toast

‘ here’s to you / &
  here’s to you / &

              here’s to you ! ’

upstairs
the guests are seated
at the long table . . .

soon

they rise again

there comes
the scraping of the stairs
the small voices of the glass
& the gentle mirth
of the girls
& the players
& the children
& the old men

&   laughter
      laughter

‘ for all its worth ’

above the scent of the rain
beneath a sickle moon
all in
                    the gathering blue
ah . . . its a snatch of old song
           comes drifting through . . .

now
the lamps are lit

its
growing late

& dark

now
the horseman’s at the gate

&
the prussian hound

he
hugs the earth

he 
does not bark

he

makes

no

 

sound . . .

David Mitchell was born in Wellington in 1940. He attended Wellington Teachers' Training College and there associated with a number of other poets, including James K. Baxter, Peter Bland, Alistair Campbell, Louis Johnson, Hilaire Kirkland and Mark Young. He went overseas in 1962, travelling to France, Spain, Germany and Scandinavia. Upon return to New Zealand in the mid-1960s, Mitchell became an active reader and promoter of his own and other’s work. His collection Pipe Dreams in Ponsonby was published in 1972. Mitchell was awarded the Katherine Mansfield Fellowship in 1975, and in 1980 he toured nationally with Alan Brunton, Ian Wedde and three musicians. He ran Poetry Live! at the Globe Hotel in Auckland for three years from 1980. Despite a decline in health from the mid-1980s, Mitchell has continued to write and perform and in 2002 completed a Bachelor of Arts in English Literature from Victoria University of Wellington. A book of his selected work, Steal Away Boy, was published by Auckland University Press in 2010, edited and with an introduction by Martin Edmond and Nigel Roberts. Mitchell now lives in Sydney.

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Links

University of Auckland: New Zealand Literature author file