The first whip of winter

The Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh. Saint Rémy, June 1889.

Copyright: Moma, New York

The other night I felt the first whip of winter and was glad at the thought of all the cosy nights ahead of me. The night skies at this time of year are clear, limitless, crisp and full of sparkle. However, as I live in London the light pollution hampers my star-gazing so I turn to the wonderful poet Alice Oswald who takes me to the night skies and familiar evening smells of woodsmoke and leaves every time I read her poem A Star Here And A Star There which is from her collection Woods etc.

the first whisper of stars is a faint thing

a candle sound, too far to read by

the first whisper of stars is a candle sound

those faraway stars that rise and give themselves airs

a star here and a star there

the first whisper of stars is that faint thing

that candle sound too far away to read by

when you walk outside leaving the door ajar

and smell the various Danks of Dusk

and a star here

and a star there

you walk outside leaving the door ajar

and on by one those stars bring you their troubles

and a star

those deafmute stars - Alkaid Mizar Alioth -

trying to make you hear who they once were

and a star

here and there

and

here and there the

start of a

Phad Merak Muscida - it's like blowing on a ring of cinders

all that sky that lies hidden in the taken for granted air

it's like blowing on a ring of cinders

the crackle of not quite stars that you can hear

when you walk outside leaving the door ajar

and smell the various Danks of Dusk

and here and there

the start

of a star

someone looks up, he sees his soul growing visible

in various shapes above the house

he sees his soul tilted above the house

all his opponent selves hanging and fluttering

out there in the taken for granted air

in various shapes above the house

star

he sees a star here and a star there

and a star here

and a star a star

here and there he sees

there flies that man they call the moon,

that bone-thin man, his body almost gone

star

there he flies among the stars,

that deafmute man, urgently making signs

among those first faint stars

those whispered stars, their meanings almost gone

Poem taken from Woods etc. by Alice Oswald

published by Faber and Faber 2005