(for Olwen Jenkins)
The old town stands on the crest of a hill – a castle which was breached, streets echoing from lack of inhabitants, and a grey-stone church which has not entirely succeeded in casting off its inner yellowish skin of plaster, where an angel stands. It is not a terrifying bird nearly fatal to the spirit but a young creature, fair, pure, with his long wings folded, hesitating on the threshold of proclaiming new life.
‘Dinggedicht: L’Ange de l’Annonciation’
© copyright text and translation Mary Burdett-Jones 2022