Ave Atque Vale

Ave Atque Vale

Moments remain, the sculpted, painted, drawn
Split second millennia long,
Current word silenced, ambered into song
Where nothing can change, no bee molest these petals
Which, met, undo me, leave me unborn or dead,
Unable to compare,
Let hand, make memory meddle.
Momentous did they seem? Not now, so still.
They are, are, are, are, are the things I see
And will be when they're lost, obliterated,
The model passed away.
On this old empty vase glazed patterns dance,
Above it fixed wings beat, the migrants' flight

Good morning, present, absent ones, good night.

from Wild and Wounded (Anvil Press poetry, 2004), copyright © Michael Hamburger 2004, used by permission of the author and the publisher

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1From a Diary of Non-Events - December

2From a Diary of Non-Events - January

3From a Diary of Non-Events - February

4From a Diary of Non-Events - April

5From a Diary of Non-Events - July

6From a Diary of Non-Events - August

7From a Diary of Non-Events - September

8From a Diary of Non-Events - November

9Tautological Ode to a Cat

10Redundant Epitaphs


11Conversation with the Muse of Old Age






14Beech Hedge in Winter


15Muted Song

16Snowed In


18Ave atque Vale

Books by Michael Hamburger