The NS Poem: Nostalgia

A new poem by Blake Morrison. 

Sign Up

Get the New Statesman's Morning Call email.

When she trembled it wasn’t one string
but the whole instrument.

Though she deserved my adoration
I lacked the will to see it through.

For her part, she approved of me,
but approval isn’t love.

We were like water-boatmen
on a pond, cool and adrift.

Eternity was the god
who allowed us little moments.

Over time I forgot her face
and yet these things come back:

a low white moon, a silent bar,
the cry of seals along the shore.

This poem appears in Blake Morrison’s new novel “The Executor” (Chatto & Windus)

This article appears in the 11 May 2018 issue of the New Statesman, Israel vs Iran

Free trial CSS