when I first came here, I wasn't sure how to post about this. tonight though I think I found a way
its not a poem. [I dont understand about scanning and rhythm.]
all of this is true so I havent put full names and it covers a thirty year period between 1973 and 2003.
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I didn’t know who you were
so you set out to show me.
you sent me G. . .
and made me love him.
loving someone more than I loved myself
tipped the scales: joy like no other!

then you said, 'now do you know who I am?'
'No,' I said, 'I do not know who you are.'

Then you gave me J . . . .
that summer I never wanted to end.
you made me love him too
in a quite different way . . .
how close we were!

then you said, 'now do you know who I am?'
'no,' I replied, 'I still do not know who you are.'

I went to another country and found A . . .
and loved him in a way I hadn’t loved G or J . .
a painful love which burnt and burnt;
a scorching fire which has never gone out.

'surely now,' you said, 'you know who I am,'
but still I said I did not know.

I was on holiday in my own country
I searched out another A [why are you shaking your head?]
and loved him too:
a chaotic love which blinded us both.

'surely now,' you said, 'you know who I am,'
but still I did not know.

I came back home
and an abbot said I should be a monk.
'now you will find out who I am!' you said
but, even as you showed me, my old love withered
like wheat in a drought.
This was a love I did not understand.

I fled from you,
yearning for the love I had known,
‘you’ll be all alone,’ the abbot cried
and so it was.
I gave myself over to the daily grind as best I could,
and made my home in a strange place.

Even as I fled, you followed.
you blocked my path,
you barred my way,
you sent hailstones and frogs
and turned love on its head.
year after year you reminded me,
of the wheat in the drought
of the place where no love was.

you made me read,
you made me pray,
you made me write,
you made me ponder and search,

but always, always when I came to the wheat in the drought
I would not stay and I would not follow.

Even as I moaned 'I am done for.
you will surely give up on me now.'
I met H . . .
it is difficult to speak about my love for H.
when I think of H I think of G,
then A, then J, and then my other A too
and know that I can only fail H
like I have failed you.

but H led me straight to the wheat in the drought.
disguised as a ploughed field.
'cross it with me!' I said.
but H didn’t understand about ploughed fields.
so I stayed in my home in a strange land.

The day the detective arrived to arrest me,
was the day you said,
now it’s time to cross the ploughed field.


You crossed the ploughed field with me
and as we crossed I looked at you in astonishment.
'you never gave up!' I said.

You look at me and ask again,
'So now do you know who I am?'

'Yes', I said, 'now I know who you are.
you are the one who never gives up,'
and take your hand.