Being 80 years in the forests of the night

For Cyril

Yes, I look back
regretfully and wistfully,
although my past is also now
and some scenes burning bright.

So which way do face -
or, Janus-like, both ways?
Sometimes stand with my back
to tomorrow, staring out over
ever-enlarging landscapes which are past.
And sometimes look into darkness,
intriguing tomorrows
the unpredicatble not yet.

There are tall walls around me
and the light
falls only from above.
Here am still and safe
but cannot remain forever.

What tools shall choose
what symbol shall use
shall march under a banner
or shall I
build my own boat
and try to sail alone?

Too cold too thin that way.
choose accompaniment
The music grows.

I listen and watch
find it hard to dance and sing.
Nevertheless, unworded burning bright
some scenes,
some births.

Between these high walls
in the light
now there are others:
shall we together
oh, tyger, shall we dare.

Here is the shore
the wind is strong and good
we will sail only forwards no Janus now
know these ropes.

Some shores I recognize dock in familiar harbours
avoid the jungle intricacies (forests of the night)

too dark, too always there.

But always sought - could not avoid -
the fearful devastating
the aweful symetry
the sublime structure

I could not flee the tygers or the night
could only search for that high point of light

Now the light changes.
I no longer know
what walls are strong.
The jungles are still here.
Burst, tyger, into song.