29 MARCH 1963, Page 34


Light is present in this valley As in no other. It is made of green And black and comes from the sea.

There is snow on the cliff face And in the air, but you can see every leaf On the olive trees at the base Of the mountain and a splinter Of rock like a bone on the opposite Precipice. Light is empty in winter

And throws back images of distant Animals and birds, which turn and look At you from miles away with vacant

Eyes and their wings hardly moving. It is part of a stillness Which is buried in the hillside. Something Almost submarine about a silence Of stones and the ghosts of temples And stadiums, rising from their immanence.