are you still somewhere

1 

This is only a note 

To say how sorry I am 

You died. You will realize 

What a position it puts 

Me in. I couldn’t really 

Have died for you if so 

I were inclined. The carn 

Foxglove here on the wall 

Outside your first house 

Leans with me standing 

In the Zennor wind. 

 

Anyhow how are things? 

Are you still somewhere 

With your long legs 

And twitching smile under 

Your blue hat walking 

Across a place? Or am 

I greedy to make you up 

Again out of memory? 

Are you there at all? 

I would like to think 

You were all right 

And not worried about 

Monica and the children 

And not unhappy or bored. 

 

2 

Speaking to you and not 

Knowing if you are there 

Is not too difficult. 

My words are used to that. 

Do you want anything? 

Where shall I send something? 

Rice-wine, meanders, paintings 

By your contemporaries? 

Or shall I send a kind 

Of news of no time 

Leaning against the wall 

Outside your old house. 

 

The house and the whole moor 

Is flying in the mist. 

 

3 

I am up. I’ve washed 

The front of my face 

And here I stand looking 

Out over the top 

Half of my bedroom window. 

There almost as far 

As I can see I see 

St Buryan’s church tower. 

An inch to the left, behind 

That dark rise of woods, 

Is where you used to lurk. 

 

4 

This is only a note 

To say I am aware 

You are not here. I find 

It difficult to go 

Beside Housman’s star 

Lit fences without you. 

And nobody will laugh 

At my jokes like you. 

 

5 

Bryan, I would be obliged 

If you would scout things out 

For me. Although I am not 

Just ready to start out. 

I am trying to be better, 

Which will make you smile 

Under your blue hat. 

 I know I make a symbol 

Of the foxglove on the wall. 

It is because it knows you. 

 

[W.S. Graham {1918-1986} 'Dear Bryan Wynter', from Poems that Make Grown Men Cry: 100 Men on the Words that Move Them—Anthony Holden and Ben Holden, eds.]