Poetry from Mark Young


Specificity is 
not required. 

Vague words, 
curtailed gest-

ures, the new 
moon pregnant 

with the old. 
Enough to 

point a rough 
but ready way.


Postered walls. A
kind of transient lounge
for those who came
through, never stayed
to see their presence
over-written. The
blindness of history.


That was the part that
always passed him
by. The moment when
things changed, when 
current became previous. 

He missed the nuances. 
Failed to realize that the 
shifts in light that came
& went were not simply
movements of the sun.


& then he made
or jotted down or
maybe just thought 
a few words about
this movie in which the
leading lady vanishes 
part way through,
with the rest of the
film given over to a 

futile search for her. 
But when he left the 
cinema he found all
of his words had 
disappeared & no 
matter how hard he 
tried to recall them
on the way home,
they never came back

2 thoughts on “Poetry from Mark Young

  1. An excellent collections of poems, Mark –all off them remind me of the films of Antonioni but they’re especially analogous to the snapshot montage at the end
    of L’ Eclisse —expressively cryptic, compositionally liminal. Haunting.

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