Duncan Forbes

Retired persons are not necessarily retiring or withdrawn although we are entitled to feel tired and/or rejuvenated by our superannuated state. In France they are en retraite or they have retreated. In Italy they are pensionati if they are lucky and in Germany Rentner. In Spain they are jubilados and in Portugal simply reformados. Happy euphemisms! In the fullness of time as a senior senior citizen you will have to re-retire stateless into a non-state where not one word of language exists in the breathless air.

Astonishing to think That not so long ago First the Brothers Wright Then Louis Blériot Initiated flight. And strapped into a seat Now we can choose a drink, Tomato juice, red wine, Some music or a film At 30, 000 feet. Remarkable to know That aviation fuel, Once vegetable remains, Comes from the earth as oil And energises planes. Comforting to presume The cabin’s pressurised And instruments of flight Are skilfully devised To navigate the night. Consoling to believe The forces that can heave The weight of this machine Above the ocean waves And alpine mountain scene. Strange to be conscious of The distant sea below And absent sky above Where cloud formations flow Detached from all we love.

There it is, the wren. Keep still. Breathe in. The tiny bird with stumpy tail has landed near the windowsill and moves from twig to stem as quietly as rain. Feathered and breathing, it matches its portrait on the copper farthings of my childhood sixty years ago but look away and it has gone again from then to now.

In Aljezur we took a walk And paused above the river where, Among the rushes, swifts and fish, We saw a water-snake drink the air Before the reptile rippled back And watched until an azure flash Flew from the bridge to walnut tree, A kingfisher in sudden flight, A memorised epiphany Almost before it came and went, Electric blue and heaven-sent, To fish and feed downriver where The sailing vessels once had moved Beside the town of Aljezur. And then we climbed the cobbled hill Past bees and flowers in summer heat And entered by the castle gate To read about the ancient site: A Moorish cistern now caught rain Where silos once had stored the grain. We heard the cowbells on the wind And then imagined in the sound The medieval settlement.