Two poems by Sheenah Pugh

Print these two poems and bring then to class

The craft I left in was called Esau, Sheenah Pugh

The craft I left in was called Esau,
at least that name was scratched on the smooth doorI went in by.
Someone said the engineers gave them all names, I don't know.
The stars outside were what I noticed first;
they looked so incongruously normal.
People joked nervously; just like a plane flight.
They found seats, wondered if bags would fit,
gestured at the stars and told each other:
'Be seeing those in close-up soon'.
No bother,no big deal.
I can't recall feeling sad,not then.
I think I was too interested in the achievement, the technicalities.
And when we took off, there were the night skies ahead;
still, so still, a new ocean.
It seemed natural to look for an horizon,
as a captain would look where he was bound,not back to port.
Then the ship turned,just slightly,
and there was our long bright wake already closing,
and we looked back along it
to where you could still trace
charted coastlines on the bluish mass,
quite small really; uncanny with distance,
our late guesthouse; our inheritance.


'Do You Think We'll Ever get to See Earth Sir?' Sheenah Pugh

I hear they're hoping to run trips
one day, for the young and fit, of course.
I don't see much use in it myself;
there'll be any number of places
you can't land, because they're still toxic,
and even in the relatively safe bits
you won't see what it was; what it could be.
I can't fancy a tour through the ruins
of my home with a party of twenty-five
and a guide to tell me what to see.
But if you should see some beautiful thing,
some leaf, say, damascened with frost,
some iridescence on a pigeon's neck,
some stone, some curve, some clear water;
look at it as if you were made of eyes,
as if you were nothing but an eye, lidless
and tender, to be probed and scorched
by extreme light. Look at it with your skin,
with the small hairs on the back of your neck.
If it is well-shaped, look at it with your hands;
if it has fragrance, breathe it into yourself;
if it tastes sweet, put your tongue to it.
Look at it as a happening, a moment;
let nothing of it go unrecorded,
map it as if it were already passing.
Look at it with the inside of your head,
look at it for later, look at it for ever,
and look at it once for me.

damascened :To decorate (metal) with wavy patterns of inlay or etching.
Iridescence: is the property of certain surfaces to change their colour depending on the angle under which they are viewed