The wind has picked up. It’s blowing people
into the harbour. Anyone near the
shore has no chance. Elsewhere there’s a rush for
cover or to grab onto something. But
the wind grows stronger. All over the place
people are holding on with both hands, their
feet in the air. It’s into the water
with them though. There are huge splashes from those
off the hills. And now even buildings aren’t
a protection. This is terrible – the
wind is ferreting out the city’s whole
population. You can’t hear the wind for
the screams of the incoming. They’re packing
the harbour as if it were a stadium.
– James Beach
I got this one out of Big Weather: Poems of Wellington (ed. Gregory O’Brien and Louise St John, Mallinson Rendel, 2000). I have the shiny hardback expanded edition from 2009 and it was worth every penny. It’s a beautiful book and the poems in it are universally terrific.
It’s not specially windy today, I nearly picked a different poem, but I just love the whimsy of this, the silly fantasy – even though, I suppose, it’s a horror story, but still. It just charms me, that’s all.