Victoria Moul

I.m. Andrew, October 2024

Cozen me then, my restive Lord:

The candles in the church blow out

After only an hour or more.

I have forgotten now which saint

Was in which niche and in what stand

I set my candle, when I paid

A few coins, not quite the allotted price,

Or even whom I named

Sidelong while wondering too

Whether the man who knelt

Across from me was married; how

We might afford that flat; or if

I should buy leeks or aubergine.

                       Attention is

So short and slight a thing, a flame

Snuffed as soon as lit, but all the same

Someone, I think, heard the name I named.

*This poem is in memory of Andrew Hurley, who died in Paris on 11th October 2024. Andrew’s encyclopaedic knowledge of, and unrelenting enthusiasm for French poetry are much missed by all who knew him.

Victoria Moul is a poet, critic and translator living in Paris. Recent poetry and essays have appeared in the TLS, The Dark Horse, PN Review, and Poetry London, among others. She writes about poetry and translation (from various languages) on her Substack, “Horace & friends.”