Sunday 13 December 2009

Kolinje - the slaughter of the pig




Pig hangs by its hind legs splayed out
on a wide frame. A single slit splits the
underbelly open, opening up to the
outside its warm, steaming interior all
reds and succulent, shining and wet
spilling out into well versed hands
cutting and carving, weaving a polished
tip between bone and cartilage severing
stretched tendons with a snap and
paring flesh from fat. All is carefully
sorted and dispatched, just a small
sack of bitter, black fluid is discarded.
By the end only a suggestion of pig
remains, recognisable, its tail uncoiled
and pale.

from FIELD SONGS

Thursday 10 December 2009

Field Songs, parts VI & VII




VI

More sky appears (Still so warm)
Between each limb (I could be deceived)
As trees cast into the wind
Their bronzed, autumnal leaves (For thinking it is spring)
Edged in burning red
And black decay
Colours almost singed (Colours changing)
For want of cooler days.
From their summer greens.
Rich mossy greens
And blue tinted lichens
Vibrant shades
Of ochres and orange
The season’s
Wind-blown wreckage
Remains. (Remains of leaves)
(Lie scattered in drifts.)
Ankle deep mounds of (Ankle deep mounds lie)
Lobed edges oak, (Under the oaks)
Serrated lime (And the limes.)
And smooth walnut
All long abandoned
By their branches.

I’ll take a rake (I’ll take a rake)
To tidy up (And sweep them up)
And burn them (And burn them)
Scenting the air (Filling the air)
(With plumes of)
(Brilliant white smoke)
With that acrid smell
(In an otherwise)
(Flawless sky.)
That is autumn.



VII

The fires are lit
And the fields glow

The evening sun (The labouring men)
Brightens the wall (Work in silence)
(In their unfenced acreage)

In the room (Burning stubble)
(Each in his field)
Where the colour (Where the slow wound)
Deepens (Deepens)
(And the blood)
To a crimson.
(Stiffens in the veins.)
The floor boards (The earth con-
Creak underfoot -tracks underfoot)

Unsettling the dust.
Viewed from the window
The folds in the valley
Open like a book
(Breaking the spine.)
Where the unwritten lines
Linger in the wood smoke
Hanging in horizontal layers.