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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=523672" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>On hearing that Ronnie...</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">To recall a friend<br>  is never an adieu<br> he has merely stepped across the landing<br> the light still beams the door's ajar<br> you can hear him pacing humming swinging the windows<br> to let the street in the warmth<br>    the wind ruffled<br>  through his half-opened shirt</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Across the spare digs halfway to the Schloss<br> austere in the shaded light slanting on drab curtains<br> the bare table rough-hewn the dishevelled books<br> the gaping porcelain jug and still wet basin<br> the whiff of fresh-bitten soap the close shave<br> and the stiff white collar excusing the day-old striped shirt</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> A gentle tap the door opens to a glass of port<br>     cut bread<br>  and even if you will not <br>    cheese</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> 'Beware! Beware you don't become an Hasbeen! '<br> he made no bones of his luck from stipends through Reading<br> the wideopen eyes commisserating through the flailing sheaf<br>  fallen on his ample brow<br> the hand ever brushing aside<br>  that wilful unconcern in your life<br> in your little worries your mishaps</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And you knew you had mattered in his life</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> To recall a friend<br>  is to give body to form<br> to words that bind muscle to bone <br>    those mutual moments</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> You may come back a quarter of a century later<br>And he is still there a trifle stumped by your aged face<br> the mutual moments flow without break</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> You had driven through four sleepless nights<br> your eyes peeled beyond weariness<br>  your mind bristling and in the red</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> 'Take care! Take care', he said, 'lest you burn both ends! '</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Other worlds other duties<br> keep you from bringing up his face<br> keep you from keeping mementoes: <br>    'Never excuse, never apologise! '</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> yes you might have penned a word<br>   when the stolid face swung back<br> you didn't for that would've been abrupt<br> too flippant unceremonious requiring tact</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> So you turn up a l'improviste<br> the mutual moments flow over coffee at the Konditorei<br> the same cream curtains<br> the same goldbraided periodlike chairs<br> over neatly folded ceremoniallike lace<br>   the irreal flood of filtered light<br> outside<br> no more the tug and grating pull of trams to dull your words</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Again the same attentive stare the same empathic vigil<br> for your fresh worries for your private imbroglios<br> while he foregoes a meal at the mensa</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Only you hadn't known nor suspected<br> the stealthy pain gnawing away at the bones<br> nor did he let it be shown</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Only the stoic face and the pained look<br>    for your own blasé pain</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Dedicated to Ronald Hindmarsh-Midwood (May 24,1930 - January 17,1992) *</div><div style="margin:10px 0">(*Ronnie taught English at Heidelberg University when I first met him during the summer semester in 1957.) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">(© T.Wignesan, July 4,1992 - Published as a « preface » to Ronald Hindmarsh's commemorative writings: « Mr. Hindmarsh is not writing a book.' 1993; from the collection: back to background material,1993]</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=T.+Wignesan">T. Wignesan</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=523672" data-title="On hearing that Ronnie... de T. Wignesan" data-description="To recall a friend
  is never an adieu
 he has merely stepped across the landing
 the light still beams the door's ajar
 you can hear him pacing humming swinging the windows
 to let the street in the warmth
    the wind ruffled
  through his half-..."></div>
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