English House
Lugubrious setting redolent of beeswax,
port, and formaldehyde.
The sawn off leg of an elephant,
topped by an absurd tray,
holds a forlorn rosewood letter box
awaiting correspondence from long dead members
of the family or guests,
the survivor of the era of house parties
and the habit of regular letter writing.
A rhinoceros with redundant horn and stumpy nose
peers across the great dining room at
its own reflection in the huge baroque mirror.
The table, of rich mahogany, is laid ready for a meal,
surrounded by unblinking stares of dead animals.
No convivial company is suggested
by their accusing glass eyes.
Glass domes fend dust off intricate arrangements
of cadaverous objects.
Between fluted pilasters
cases of specimens in mock flight
display lifetimes of collecting passions,
lusts to fill empty days and rooms, a reminder
of escapes from the damp and snow of English winters.
Trophy collectors look out of wide
gilt frames that line the stairs.
From every side horns stab the air in mute rage.
The house is time-warped, still, silent,
at once grotesque, pagan, and splendid.
A baronial nightmare extravagant with horn,
hide, teeth, and eyes,
and bristling dreadful fur.
port, and formaldehyde.
The sawn off leg of an elephant,
topped by an absurd tray,
holds a forlorn rosewood letter box
awaiting correspondence from long dead members
of the family or guests,
the survivor of the era of house parties
and the habit of regular letter writing.
A rhinoceros with redundant horn and stumpy nose
peers across the great dining room at
its own reflection in the huge baroque mirror.
The table, of rich mahogany, is laid ready for a meal,
surrounded by unblinking stares of dead animals.
No convivial company is suggested
by their accusing glass eyes.
Glass domes fend dust off intricate arrangements
of cadaverous objects.
Between fluted pilasters
cases of specimens in mock flight
display lifetimes of collecting passions,
lusts to fill empty days and rooms, a reminder
of escapes from the damp and snow of English winters.
Trophy collectors look out of wide
gilt frames that line the stairs.
From every side horns stab the air in mute rage.
The house is time-warped, still, silent,
at once grotesque, pagan, and splendid.
A baronial nightmare extravagant with horn,
hide, teeth, and eyes,
and bristling dreadful fur.
