Wednesday, 27 May 2009

edge of England



















“You look like a medieval tomb”
one said as I was lying flat tired
“only missing is the dog
at the feet of the marble effigy”
I think of recumbent royals
in cool resonant French basilicas
- sunk into the narrow bed
of a youth hostel
by the border of Wales

a bevvy of ladies, all English
bar one of two, walk below
tilted banks of bluebell and primrose.
Photo call by a five-bar gate
taking in mackerel sky,
citron sharp rapeseed fields,
a gap in the horizon
and four of us trying not to pose
in clean morning light

Is this like France someone asks me?
Yes some places in France resemble this
but there are such diverse landscapes,
same as in this country

Here at the edge there is a crusted rim of englishness
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dazzle and shade

swallows in the Jacobean space
shape the air
lift the eye away from history and carved panels
flit in and out
make nonsense of past power history and wealth
their wings cut through absolute present
dazzle and shade
settle in crannies between beam and slate
at rest in facing pairs
a heritage panel informs that bats
live somewhere around the tower