No photograph for this, I'm afraid, so I've used a woodcut by one of my favourite wildlife artists, Andrew Waddington. You can find out more about his work here: http://www.andrewwaddington.co.uk
A Winter Night
The crescent
cradle of the new-born moon
Hangs
low amongst surrounding stars
In a bell-clear,
iron winter sky,
Illuminating,
fitfully and with pale half-light,
The
frozen, snow-clad shadowlands
Of
hedge and field and tree.
Under
the protection of ice-dusted ivy
That
thickly masks old, crumbling walls,
A muffled
blackbird sleeps alone
With
feathers fluffed against the cold.
No
breathe of wind disturbs the sparkling blanket
That
covers every branch and twig
Of dormant
willow, sycamore and oak.
Nor
does man or beast disturb the stillness
Except,
in passing, one indignant owl
Whose cries
complain at the fruitlessness
Of foraging
in a bare and icy larder.
It
seems as if the earth itself is fresh and clean,
Newly-made
and not yet totally complete.
This is
what it would be like
If the
long-forgotten pureness of spirit
And peaceful
sanctuary stillness
That
used to dwell in what men called their souls
Could
be turned into a world.
And if
the heavens were as still,
And
time itself was frozen like the land,
This is
what it would be like forever.
2 comments:
I don't know if it is conscious on your part, but I find it to be refreshing that you do not repeat important words in your poetry. It attests to a person who has access to a broad and well-considered vocabulary picked up on life's journey. I have to be conscious of that when I write songs because it is easy to slip into matters of ease and convenience, a trap you seem to avoid or elude, or both.
BM
PS Love the poem because it's tight and said right.
Yes, Bruce, avoiding repetition is part of the discipline I've learned in many years as a writer. Finding different ways to express something is part of the joy of writing for me. When I do use repetition, it's deliberate - in order to add emphasis, for example. The hub of this poem is the phrase 'This is what it would be like', which is repeated. I came across this phrase whilst reading an essay in Edward Thomas' 'The Heart of England' and, for some reason, it stayed with me
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