The Aquarium

Hamish Sturgeon

• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Year: 2022
• Print ISBN: 9781647502492
• eBook ISBN: 9781647502508
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Poetry
• Index: Literature

The Aquarium is a collection of poetry documenting the lives of an aristocratic British couple in the middle of the 20 th Century. Told in two parts, we first meet Charles; aged, crippled and left alone in his crumbling stately home – reflecting on his life and his marriage to beautiful Alice, who we meet in part two.

The Aquarium moves through the decades, across this life and the next. Interweaving themes of grief, loss, after-life, mental illness, duty, and the true nature of love.

Charles

The House

There is a long drive attached to this house

Sheltered by trees of the strongest oak

And bordered by fields of wild deer.

A certain window carved deep in the house is the best way to see it.

On a clear day you can see the far distant road ahead,

Cars like little pellets.

People on the move. Work. Home.

I watch them from here. Sharp, knobbled elbow

Jabbing into an old cushion.

Worn. Faded. Dying.

Like the house.

The Music Room

I can see her now, Alice.

Fingers working the piano, her head rocking.

“Your head must be still,” I said, “remember the rules?”

She looks up at me, startled.

Her eyes, the deepest blue, drown me.

She slows her playing and then stops.

Her profile caught in the afternoon sun,

Hair tousled, strands loose,

She lights a cigarette,

Looks out of the music room window,

And smiles.

Just to herself.

Birthday

The lights of the weaving, meandering cars hit the portico roof,

An explosion of light flashing the front of the house

As they cluster in the circular drive.

The door cracks open,

The crunch of gravel on stubborn heels.

Giggling women, jeering men.

Soft thuds of car doors,

Engines sparking and purring.

I wait for Alice. I wait for her in the shadows, so much of us in the dark.

Young lovers, supple bones.

Emerald green gown,

Gliding the floor.

Effortlessly.

Garden Party

It was every year in June,

Our garden party.

When the sun was always shining

And all the people came

From the village

To watch.

1949

Alice mothered our children like a blast wave,

Crashing through their innocence like atomic bullets,

Daily tasks of warfare rifling through their souls,

Barked orders at the Nanny,

Rounded bustling Tilly,

The diffident colonel sheltering her troops.

I watched, like I always watched,

The rubble of our family gently tapping at my boots

In the grounds of my adoration.

The war bombs

Were nothing

Compared

To the string attached to her sanity,

Her fading grace gently tugging at it.

Tightropes

Of

Tiny

Little

Valves.

Orangery

We were laughing

Together

At the newspapers

In the orangery,

The children playing on the lake,

Nervously watching us.

Their parents trapped in the sunlight,

Laughing together.

1990

Here they are, all grown

With their own children,

And still our history slowly bubbling

To nothing.

They will try to get me from this house

A certain duty to the bloodline

And I must resist them. Yes.

(A certain duty to the bloodline).

Estuary

She hurled the mirror at me with great force

Then started on the crockery.

Tears blazing soft trails, tiny rivers.

I dodged, and dodged, and dodged, laughing

I followed her through the corridors

Past the rooms laden with gilded furniture,

Her hair loose and flowing –

Until she stopped dead in the half-light

By the equestrian statue and

Looked at me,

Animal-like,

As she ripped off her dress

To fuck.

Dead Things

Dead things

Are bloodless and boneless,

But I saw her that day.

She swept into the library

In pure white silk

And caught the fading light with a single breath.

All I coul...

Table of contents

• The Aquarium
• About the Author
• Dedication
• Copyright Information ©
• Charles
• Alice