It's a difficult question, this: whether they are in fact there where they are said to be. As far as I can see the fishmonger's far too busy to make any comment.
Those who've seen them might say they appear as mercurial flashes of light off the scales of the fish where they dart underwater.
But why should the fishmonger care?
For him it's the fish that count. And angels, unlike fish, aren't easily caught.
Besides, who'd want them, bodiless and light-infested, gracing the dinner-table, however distributed?
Not the little women who stand in the queue by the fishmonger's lorry.
Angels thrive elsewhere, find their place in the luminous golds and greens and blues of Florentine Fra Angelicoes, conjured from the numinous into the tactile forms of art.
Angels thrive elsewhere, find their place in the luminous golds and greens and blues of Florentine Fra Angelicoes, conjured from the numinous into the tactile forms of art.
Christopher Hampton taught for many years in the University of Westminster and the London City Literary Institute. His latest collection is Border Crossings (Katabasis 2005).
A response to poem by Gerard Lemaire with this title. Christopher Hampton taught for many years in the University of Westminster and the London City Literary Institute. His latest collection is Border Crossings (Katabasis 2005).