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This poem is taken from PN Review 127, Volume 25 Number 5, May - June 1999.

Black Hill Sean Haldane

Along the moor side, scattering sheep,
Clambering over walls of black stone,
Under the lark's twitter in the sky sphere
And the hobby hawk's begging wheep,
I've climbed. I'd thought I was alone.
But they were there. They are here
On the ridge in a round barrow
Tussocked with grass, crumbling down,
Boulders tumbled into its crown.

I lie on the grass and press my ear
Against a boulder. Dimly I hear:

Who I am you don't want to know.
How it is you don't want to know.

Dimly I see blue eyes scrunched narrow,
White cheeks and forehead, yellow hair.

You don't want to know who I am.
I was killed with me Dad and me Mam.
Death is more than you want to know.
What it's like you don't want to know.

Yellow-haired girl, you don't want to know
...


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