“At school, I was never given asense that poetry was something flowery or light. It's a complex and controlledway of using language. Rhythms and themusic of it are very important. But the difficulty is that poetry makes somekind of claim of honesty.” – Tobias Hill
A multi-talented writer of fiction,poems and short stories, Hill was born in London on March 30, 1970 and died ofbrain cancer in 2023. He won awards forall his writing efforts, which included 4 volumes of poetry, 4 novels, a shortstory collection, and a children's book in just 20 years of writing.
For Saturday’s Poem from hisaward-winning Midnight in the City of Clocks (influenced by hisexperience of life in Japan), here is Hill’s,
October
Shemeets the train
atBurning Stone station,
redleaves in her pocket
andthe river from the mountain
greenas an eye.
Thesun keeps rhythm
throughthe pines. The train beats time. She tells me that
hername translates as Three Eight Sweet One,
Sickle-Hand,and that her town
isfamous for carrots, and that
Themoon has no face in Japan,
butthe shadow of a hare,
leaptfrom the arms of a god.
Later,under the sod-black trees
shehides her face against the wind
andasks me to teach her to kiss.