27 FEBRUARY 1988, Page 30

Nevertheless

Nevertheless, if all things fell away And nothing else was left, what would you do?

You cannot say.

If you could say it, it would not be true.

You have embarked already, Pascal said: You cannot stay, You move, not knowing it, to join the dead.

And yet you know it, travelling a route Marked with such signposts as you recognise: Not absolute, Provisional rather, but clear to eyes Trained in the sign-language of mortal speech, Grave or acute, Place-names or common names, each linked with each.

Not knowing or knowing, asleep, awake, You journey on, as some things fall away, Dry up, or break, Explode, or wither, burn down, or decay; And what remains, next year, or month, or week, Even today Is what you cannot write, or even speak.

Anthony Thwaite