Poetry day yesterday apparently so heres some words from famous Seamus. :) ~ Field Work ~ I Where the sally tree went pale in every breeze, where the perfect eye of the nesting blackbird watched, where one fern was always green. I was standing watching you take the pad from the gatehouse at the crossing and reach to lift a white wash off the whins. I could see the vaccination mark stretched on your upper arm, and smell the coal smell of the train that comes between us, a slow goods, wagon after wagon full of big-eyed cattle. II But your vaccination mark is on your thigh, an O thats healed into the bark. Except a dryads no a woman you are my wounded dryad in a mothering smell of wet and ring-wormed chestnuts. Our moon was small and far, was a coin long gazed at brilliant on the Pequods mast across Atlantic and Pacific waters. III Not the mud slick, not the black weedy water full of alder cones and pock-marked leaves Not the cow parsley in winter with its old whitened shins and wrists, its sibilance, its shaking. Not even the tart green shade of summer thick with butterflies and fungus plump as a leather saddle. No. But in a still corner, braced to its pebble-dashed wall, heavy, earth-drawn, all mouth and eye, the sunflower, dreaming umber. IV Catspiss smell, the pink bloom open: I press a leaf of the flowering currant on the back of your hand for the tight slow burn of its sticky juice to prime your skin, and your veins to be crossed criss-cross with leaf-veins. I lick my thumb and dip in in mould, I anoint the anointed leaf-shape. Mould blooms and pigments the back of your hand like a birthmark - my umber one, you are stained,, stained to perfection.
Posted on: Sat, 04 Oct 2014 10:12:50 +0000
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