Robert Montgomery

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Compassing The Loyalties

In collaboration with Greta Bellamacina & Robert Montgomery

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Greta Bellamacina and Robert Montgomery collaborate on a poem about discipline in isolation and love in apprehension.

 

as the gentlemen refuse to take your hands
the average price of a mini-break for the average British family
Oscillates variously here and there up and down versus
Average family household income and total GDP
with a vicious silent and meaningless geometry invisible
to anyone except the newsreaders on ITV

 

scultinating the promenade
maintaining the right to hold hands again
in gray owl blue cigarettes
I was happy on the plane ‘cos you breathed into me in the sky on the way to Majorca
And didn’t complain about the Ryanair seats
When the view became filled with heartbreaking beauty
before we landed
You woke up, seemed surprised you said
Look! There are mountains in the sea

 

awaking the tapping sea ease
the breaking bridge of the waves
always waking you
and never breaking you
mooring your temples at

 

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Photo by Jacob Perlmutter

 

As we pulled up from Stansted Airport
I looked down at January England
All its trees pulled back to complete recede
Dead still January trees
Like we must have burned the fields in December

 

buried them in the motion
and let the let let live
for the dogged shaped glasses which contain the oceans before
I remembered a line from a poet I forget the name of
He said, “Winter is the autopsy table,”
And I realized it was the first time I was coming back to Majorca
One of my father’s favorite places
After my dad died

 

compassing the loyalty
compassing the memories
riding up high with you in the sky
i am so afraid of unbeating like this
and not being able to stop unbeating like this
Your sleep head on my chest breathing and
Me not being sure whose sleep this is
The islands emerging
Weird new mountains from under the clouds
Looking as weird and new as China
i am sorryed like your collars
i am sorryed by the fight itself
and only when you let the dirt drink itself
does it feel more like home.

 

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Photo by Tom Hines

 

juiced by the endless of glass
and broken again by the wings which only let the letting love you
and foreign for the curtains which drag you away from
this only sometimes rightful stoned sadness
foreign again like the yew tree which spells spring
and educates itself.
jaggedly lonely
stoned
gone by pages
not your sorry place
not your sacred someone lone
and how we love the tears
and tears make up veins narrowed.

 

Europes argued about
My whole self floating over the whole thing realizing
How lucky I am
A whole new Europe and my eyes clutching back
Constantly to the memory of your thighs
elasticating the fishermen
enlacing the rods which ash and make ink
too the cold simple floors
unlooking
jaws which hold the gushed words of
the old fig trees in the town square with new figs
the size of olives only
figs of January
that mount the papers on your chest
softing the ways you wake and get up
daywards to be more
forwards to be like your own
and only in the vain light
the homes you foresaw the roads to
Tumbling again over our childhood memories again,
A new Majorca

 

Featured Image Photography: Robert Montgomery. Paris Fire Poem, 2010.