Between which we walk

Let us go then you and I *

Down these many corridors of stone,

Open to the winter stillness,

A thaw in motion, somnambulant in mood.

I have seen all things pass and all men go

In the hall of the Royal Dûnn at Tara

Under the shadow of the drifting leaf.Listen!

The rocks and trees are whispering.

And slowly, very slowly,

Like a world caught in breath, we wait to exhale.

Caught between the present and future,

At the height of expectation

Exhilaration is the moment

Of sweet release.

I have heard you calling, Dalua, Dalua!

Arise from your dreams on Mount Amara **

And walk with me, tripping down the nights and days,

Mind and muse, moving together, 

A marriage of true minds, intoxicating one another, 

Drinking from that conjugal cup,

A silent communion, a willing communication.

And in the eternal landscape of the here and now,

In the post-glacial history, lies an archive in the granite rock.

Layer upon layer of stored fable and fact,

Between which we walk, between the stones,

Amidst the lithological annals, over the pebbles,

Over the grit, touching the quivering branches,

The vibrant mosses, the glistening webs.

Navigate through this inner landscape, 

Polyhymnia you are my guide. 

Tread carefully across the boulders,

Across the numinous ride of the track,

Across the Earth's sweet cleavages.

And we, each of us upon the last and sharpest height, ***

Feel the air is thin and oblivion not far away. 

VH 2009

* TS Eliot

** Milton

*** Tennyson

Black Rook in Rainy Weather

Black Rook in Rainy Weather - Sylvia Plath

On the stiff twig up there

Hunches a wet black rook

Arranging and rearranging its feathers in the rain.

I do not expect a miracle

Or an accident

To set the site on fire

In my eye, nor seek

Any more in the desultory weather some design,

But let spotted leaves fall as they fall,

Without ceremony, or portent.

Although I admit, I desire,

Occasionally, some backtalk

From the mute sky, I can't honestly complain:

A certain mirror light may still

Lean incandescent

Out of kitchen table or chair

As if a celestial burning took

Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then - 

Thus hallowing an interval

Otherwise inconsequent

By bestowing largesse, honor,

One might say love.  At any rate, I now walk

Wary  (for it could happen

Even in this dull, ruinous landscape); skeptical,

Yet politic; ignorant

Of whatever angel may choose to flare

Suddenly at my elbow.  I only know that a rook

Ordering its black feathers can so shine

As to seize my senses, haul

My eyelids up, and grant

A brief respite from fear

Of neutrality.  With luck,

Trekking stubborn through this season

Of fatigue, I shall

Patch together a content

Of sorts.  Miracles occur,

If you care to call those spasmodic

Tricks of radiance miracles.  The wait's begun again,

The long wait for the angel,

For that rare, random descent.

Sylvia Plath Collected Poems, Faber & Faber 1981

The Banished Gods

Near the headwaters of the longest river
There is a forest clearing.
A dank, misty place,
Where light stands in columns
And birds sing with a noise like paper tearing.

Far from land, from the trade routes,
In an unbroken dreamtime
Of penguin and whale,
The seas sigh to themselves,
Re-living the days before the days of sail.

Where the wires end and the moor seethes in silence,
Scattered with scree, primroses,
Feathers and humus,
It shelters the hawk and hears
In dreams the forlorn cries of lost species.

It is here that the banished gods are in hiding.
Here they sit out the centuries,
In stone, water
And the hearts of trees,
Lost in a reverie of their own natures.

Of zero growth, economics and seasonal change,
In a world without cars, computers,
Or chemical skies.
Where thought is a fondling of stones,
And wisdom a five minute silence at moonrise.

by Benjamin Grafton 2007

For Ben, 1948-2015,  from Claudia

We'll catch our fish and watch the birds,

And hunt for mushrooms in the earth,

And if there's a name you haven't yet heard,

It'll be story after story and our souls, they won't get old.

We'll joke around and start up fights,

And tell long tales into long bright nights,

And if theres's a wrong you set to rights,

There'll be story after story, and ours souls, they won't get old.

We'll wear out our bodies and we'll use all our heart,

We'll take in every moment, the bright ones and the dark,

We'll cash in every chip, and we'll play every card,

And it'll be story after story, and on our souls you leave your mark.

A Winter Walk with Polyhymnia (second version - a bit more posy)

Merryvale January 2009

Let us go then you and I * 

Down these many 

Corridors of stone,

List'ning to the roaring silence,

A thaw in motion  - in somnambulant mood.

And I have seen all things, 

And all men that dwell, 

In the Hall of Royal Dûn,

At Tara, under the shadow 

Of the drifting leaf.

The rocks and trees 

Share our vision,

And like a world caught in breath 

We wait to exhale, and at the height of exhilaration 

There is sweet release.

And I have heard you calling, 

Dalua, Dalua!

Arise from your dreams on 

Mount Amara,

Polyhymnia, come and walk with me.

Come tripping down 

The nights and days,.

Mind and muse moving together, 

Intoxicating one another, 

Drinking from that conjugal cup, in silent communion,

In this eternal landscape, forever casting shadow on the past and beyond

Our present is between.

Shall we walk ?  

Shall we be amidst the feast of stones, 

The gift of pebbles, the dust of grit, 

Between the quivering branches, 

The vibrant mosses, the glistening webs?

What vaster dream can we inhabit and be amidst,

This love of earth.

V Hemingway 2009

* TS Eliot

Between Which We Walk

Merrivale January 2009

Let us go then, you and I *
Down these many corridors of stone,
Open to the winter stillness,
A thaw in motion, somnambulant in mood.
I have seen all things pass and all men go
Under the shadow of Tara's Halls,
Misting on the drifting leaf.

Listen! The rocks and trees are whispering,
And slowly, very slowly,
Like a world caught in breath we wait to exhale.
Caught between the present and future,
At the height of expectation,
Exhilaration is the moment
Of sweet release.

I have heard you calling, Dalua, Dalua!
Arise from your dreams on Mount Amara **
And walk with me, tripping down the nights and days,
Mind and muse, moving together,
A marriage of true minds
Intoxicating one another,
Drinking from that conjugal cup.

And in the eternal landscape of the here and now,
In the post-glacial history,
Lies an archive in the granite schist.
Layer upon layer of stored fable and fact,
Between which we walk, between the stones,
Over the pebbles, over the grit,
Touching the quivering branches, the soft luxuriant mosses.

Come, let us navigate through this inner landscape Polyhymnia,
You are my guide,
Tread carefully across the boulders,
Across the skeletal track,
Across the Earth's sweet cleavages.
And we, who are each of us upon the last and sharpest height,  ***
Feel the air is thin and oblivion not far away.

VH 2009

* TS Eliot

** Milton

*** Tennyson

In search of Zeus

Greece 2013