Poppies - an ear to the earth XI

XI

Even we don't know
How, after long time lying
We can suddenly find ourselves
Erupting in a meadow

Suddenly appearing and
Languishing in such away
That our coloured and colonized space
Never looks simply green again.

Our scarlet splashes
So spectacular
Our papery petals
Plentiful

We carry no scent to lace the wind
But deep rooted in our heads
Lies a latent, hazy memory
Of intoxicating dreams.

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from An ear to the earth
a collection of 14 nature poems.

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SNOW II from Field Songs

Snow II


It is dark out
Pitch black

No sound from the meadow
Except for the top
Of a plum tree

Breaking off
Burdened under
The weight of snow.

It has been falling all night
Muting all other voices.
Drifts have reached
Halfway up the front door
Lying just under the ledge
Of the windows.

The house is increasingly closed off
The neighbours are becoming
More distant.

No one stirs
It is so silent outside
Not even a dog bark.

I move closer to the fire,
I need that wood
It would be useful now.



from FIELD SONGS


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SNOW I from Field Songs

Snow I

Trudging through snow.
All has succumbed
To sleep below a
Dense, white covering

The landscape's stored energy
Is waiting for an incentive
And that particular imperative
To grow.

All has been
Woven into whiteness.
Each knotted stitch
Of thread stretches

To my foot's depression
As I struggle, cautiously
For balance
And so as not to wake

From unresolved dreams
The wilderness
And the village from
Hibernation.


taken from FIELD SONGS
published 2008

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The Poem Tree

Presentation compiled from 8mm footage and video
filmed between 1991 and 1995 showing views of
Wittenham Clumps and the beech tree known as
The Poem Tree.



I (extract)

From the small western window of their house
On the eastern edge of the village
Joseph Tubbs can watch the whole street. It is waking up.
It is still dark out. Behind the village, etched on the horizon,
Two hills are silhouetted, twin clumps
Their gentle forms agitate the skyline.

For as long as he can remember
Joseph has always kept the clumps in view
Never straying so far
As to loose sight of them.
It is there that he orientates his face
It is there that he will find his place.

Read the whole poem
http://thepoemtree.blog.hr/



As up the hill with labouring steps we trod
Where the twin clumps their sheltering branches spread
The summit gain'd, at ease reclining lay,
And all around the wide spread scene surveyed,
Point out each object and instructive tell
The various changes that the land befell
Where the low bank the country wide surrounds
That ancient earthwork form'd old Mercia's bounds.
In misty distance see the barrow heave,
There lies forgotten lonely Culchelm's grave.
Around this hill the ruthless Danes entrenched
And that fair plain with gory slaughter drenched
While at our feet, where stands that stately tower,
On days gone by up rose the Roman power.
And yonder, there where Thames' smooth waters glide,
On later days appeared monastic pride.
Within that field, where lies the grazing herd,
Hugh walls were formed, some coffins disinterred,
Such is the course of time, the wreck which fate
And awful doom award the earthly great.

Poem carved on a beech tree, Wittenham Clumps, Oxfordshire,
by Joseph Tubbs in 1844.

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from FIELD SONGS

from FIELD SONGS

Mapping the ground
In measured footsteps
Where certain stones
Mark territorial edges
Lying in places overgrown
Obscured in undergrowth
Older than ancestry
Marking boundaries
Touchstones that
Give me a grounding
To work in my field
A measured space
In which to dig.
I walk out into the field and look
With an untutored eye
Across the meadow.
I notice the lengthening shadow of trees
The soil under my feet is unknown
Where my spade wants to dig
For a moment I pause
As if trespassing on another's land
Uncertain, I've chosen a fertile plot
In which to dig.
The blade slices cleanly
Through the surface veneer
Of densely woven grasses
Down to a spade's depth
Levered and turned
And repeated
Releasing a warm smell
Of humus and promise
The earth is kind and yielding.

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A walk between two high points, Hampshire, 1993

A walk between two points
an 8mm film with narration

Video presentation compiled with narration in 2009
from film shot in 1993, Hampshire, England



A walk between two high points - A meditation on walking


From where I stand the ground slopes in all directions
I came here earlier this year while the field lay fallow
and I stood waist high in the long grass
From where I stand I have a clear view to all points of reference.

On softer ground I gather momentum and there is a rhythm
to my steps. Each step lands in the print of other footsteps and
I remember walking in other fields, along other bridleways with
muddy tracks and overhanging branches

Sunlight filters through the arc of branches, the sun feels warm
on my back. Branches drape the air across the entrance of a hollow.
The leaves are brushed by many shoulders, shredded edges.
I step through thorns into a darkening path as feet sink into the mud,
leaving an echo of my passing as I listen out for those who have gone
before me.

The air is still.
Nothing stirs.
Red flag limp amongst the verdure, no wind to disturb its sails.

Crunching gravel underfoot I lick at loose stones and follow
my shadow. My nose is filled with the scent of wood smoke,
chamomile and cow parsley. The smell of pine from a fir plantation
sweeps across the valley, a great surge of verdant miles.

Four ways meet at a five bar gate. Of the three remaining options
one must be discarded. I take the only one that takes me past
the 'acorn post'. Unlikely as it is to ever grow branches and spread
a canopy I wonder if it is merely directional or a monument, perhaps,
to the hills and valleys once covered in oak and beech. The last
surviving clumps become landmarks crowning the tops of hills.
Looking back one affords a distant view of Deacon Hill,
further off St Catherine's.

Far away a dog barks. Further still a skylark, invisible but audible.

The South Downs Way runs like an artery through the hills
of the southern counties, an ancient highway. I feel the blood
rush in my veins as I align myself through Hampshire and Sussex.

This chalk ridge terminates abruptly, not at a gate or the scar
of tarmac but at the sea. Yet, among these gentle undulations
there are thorns and nettles. Barbed wire is a hazard, much as
rocks and stones are, but these I put behind me as the clump,
the triangulation point and my thoughts all come into focus.

Ash Mizmaze - e ART h works XIV

Ash Mizmaze - e ART h works XIV

Performance piece created in August 2008
as part of an on going series of art works.
Zvecaj, Croatia

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SJhKr9a4Ngg

A longer, better quality version can be found on
the above link.