This is a book of poems by Florence Elon and illustrated by Warwick Hutton in 1984, The Keepsake Press.
Florence Elon, A young poet of impressive range, who draws on continental European, Jewish and cosmopolitan roots, and whose sense of exile is pervasive.
MY EYELIDS OPEN
My eyelids open from a thought of you
to your half-covered shape beside me, blurred
as rain slanting against our window now:
chilled slopes & hollows of your face surprise
my fingertips, that slide across
flesh puckering between
each forehead line; a white flash of the sky
lights up your eyes.
Our bodies, turning towards each other, close
like halves of a book. Taut mass of your thighs
& torso, that my own curves press into,
burns as you sway: warm being next to mine,
in this full touch, clay moulding against clay-
beside which, other acts
are partial, all thoughts, substitutes-
change dream to fact.
LINES FOR AN ALBUM
For sport, long summer days,
falling in love, we took
snapshots of graves
on the outskirts of Rome.
Caged in gold wire
a stage crowned the headstone:
two angels in mid-air
hovered on silver wings,
holding lit bulbs
round a Madonna figurine-
rose-lipped, pearl-robed-
smiling into our lens.
I spread the finished prints
on our tile floor
one late September afternoon.
They show, in blacks & whites:
Madonnas’ teeth
missing, bulbs burnt-out,
& round the stone-
boll-wisp, wing-bone.
