Poem for Tony

The Quiet American

For Tony Kendrew

Just as the swifts swoop in

and the woods are awash

with bluebells, Anthony

is leaving Trinity Saint David.

I remember the first time

he entered the Wolfson room

tall as a Lombardy poplar

eyes the colour of fiords

and weather in his voice.

Around this table of poets

this circle of friends

he has listened

with the ear of a birder

and heard

all the notes behind the words.

Amanda Pickering

21/5/13