From now on, you should treat me as a
hostile
witness, neither
pro nor con, nor
anywhere between;
heretical
in every house
but one.
A grown child in the close and holy
darkness, I will
have no business here:
no gowans fine, no cup o’ kindness yet,
no good folk westering home
in summer fog.
My ghosts are laid
in veins of anthracite
and firedamp in the pages of no book,
oxlike and unremarked, beneath a town
that wears its hauntings
well.
No wede awa for me. No neiges d’antan.
With every breath
I’m learning to forget.
John Burnside is a Scottish author and poet. His most recent poetry collection is “Learning to Sleep” (Jonathan Cape)
[See also: The NS Poem: Hymn to the Subjunctive]
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This article appears in the 12 Oct 2022 issue of the New Statesman, Will Putin go Nuclear?