Another poem about houses

HOW YOU LIVE IN A HOUSE 

(Adapted from a poem written for Margaret’s sixtieth birthday.) 

Living bi-polar in a railway station

Loneliness becomes the crush of a crowd,

Bustle gives way to emptiness,

Stillness to movement and noise to silence.

Like Tolstoy and Sofia you catch the madness

And vacillate unrestrained to fill your space 

We are always making marks or building walls

To cut us off from our neighbours 

When we live in a house we fill it.

People say, ”This house looks lived in”

And the house is happy. 

In a two-storey house you live on the stairs

Some of the time;

You consult widely or think carefully

Before going up or down.

Because up and down are different places

And on the stairs you change gear.

Upstairs is for music and dreams;

Cooking and homework and lighting fires happen downstairs.

Downstairs you say, ”We need bananas and a bottle of milk.”

Upstairs: ”I might buy myself a new pair of earrings.” 

Living in a caravan

Is rolling round inside a balloon;

The fragile border between order and chaos

Will split at any moment

And burst your carefully controlled world

All over the unkempt universe outside. 

But in a house

The chaos creeps back in;

There are corners where it is impossible to be

In charge and awake all the time.

In some houses it is the garage

Or the laundry cupboard,

Under the stairs,

Or at the far end of the backyard.

Most commonly it is the wardrobe. 

To make your control absolute

(But you never succeed)

You fill the corners with furniture,

And cover windows with curtains.

You hang pictures of grandchildren

And favourite places on the walls,

And paintings done by friends,

And you fill the last breath of the room with music. 

If you rent the house,

There is always another person present:

The landlord taking up some of your space. 

In a hostel you could play your guitar

Or your accordion

But to play your piano or clarinet

You have to be in a house.

In a hostel you say quietly, ”Shall we go up

To our room now?”

So you go together in the lift

Because only together are you at home.

In the house you don’t mind calling

From one end to the other,

So all the floorboards hear your secrets. 

Some people camp in the bedroom,

Some in the bathroom;

Do you live in the kitchen?

Or opposite the TV? 

When you live in a train your space shrinks.

Walking back to your seat

From the dining-car

Is like coming home.

If it is a broad-gauge train it travels steady,

But narrow-gauge trains rock like galloping carts.

Electric trains are smoother than steam,

Especially the Eurostar

Gliding quietly under the Channel and the Thames,

Turning great waters into puddles. 

Buses and planes cramp your style:

There is not even a dining-car

To go for variety;

People touch you on every side

So your seat becomes a high-pressure zone. 

Half a century ago the cars were larger,

You could travel around the world

On roomy passenger ships;

It was a soft endless universe. 

When we live in a house we fill it.

People say, ”This house looks lived in”,

And the house is happy.