Chronicled medieval,
yet known so long before,
I would this rescued fen survey
as did Neolithic man
living at fen edge and grassed island -
before the coming of the Roman engineers,
or the greedy titled lords' Hollandic drains -
when the rhythmic gentle harvesting
of this extraordinary land saw Tarpans roam,
and men on stilts wade the Lode
from tussock to springing tussock,
searching for new-laid eggs, and laid the fresh-cut
yealms of grass to drying in the meadows.
Here fields of sedge, green as waves in the Wash,
ebb and flow at the touch of wind,
and support myriads of threatened brithonic life
seldon seen in modern England’s pillaged,
pumped and sinking wetlands.
In my punt, rented on the Cam,
I would drift along the Lode,
and watch rich Providence display for me
wading herons, and brimstone butterflies,
and perch jumping at whizzing pond-skaters,
and giant dragonflies patroling in mimickry
of the hawks I see circling above the fen.
And I would know, though could not see,
that voles are sifting soil for bugs,
that fieldmice dart through the grass
in search of fallen seeds,
as grass snakes lie in wait for frogs,
and flowing sweet water feeds the soil.
But now my attention all is caught
by slow and heavy half-glimpsed
grey movements in the sedge.
I pole my punt up to the bank and halt,
hovering there against the gentle current in the reeds.
A rustling in the grass, and two grulla ears preceed
a Konik's head that splits the sedge apart,
and lightly snorts acknowledgement of me,
a mere observer of his harem grazing there.
Intellegent eyes assess me without fear,
a small nod of the head, and then he's back to feeding.
I am thus so gently dismissed, unthreatening
water-born interloper as I appear.
Yet I have been transported back in time
by this encounter, when Tarpans ruled these fens,
and encroaching trees were kept at bay; as now,
by these grazing Koniki polski,these new-bought
bred-back ancient equine managers of Wicken Fen.
Author notes
Grulla: horse coat colour - mouse dun, from a Spanish word.
Wicken Fen: Owned by the Nationa Trust. UK's only undrained fenland
Konik polski: Archaic Polish horse breed used in Euriope to maintain wetland openspaces. Phenotype of the genetically extinct Tarpan.
Comments
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Different, for sure.
It's not very often that one encounters subject matters of this sort in modern poems, but I really like the idea.
The thing I really enjoyed about this poem, first and foremost, was the imagery. The picture you paint here is very distinct and in my mind, I saw the big open fields with the grasses swaying in the wind with the animals serenely grazing about. The beauty of this place you speak of is really captivating and well spoken-for. You really get a sense of the majestic, yet quiet and modest feeling of this long-forgotten place now overshadowed by the dust and grime of modern industrialization. I really liked the line towards the end "Yet I have been transported back in time"; I think it really underlines that idea.
The only thing I was a little sketchy on was the freeverse style the poem is written in. But I'm always a little skeptical of free verse anyway. As a personal suggestion, I'd have gone with a more archaic style of writing to kind of fit with the medieval theme you've got going. Make it sound something like what would've been sung by a bard or something back in those days. But on the other hand, the more contemporary way it is written in seems to speak to the fact that here we are in our modern times, looking back on something so old, with so much history, there's no way we could really see it the way our ancestors did. But that's just my opinion.
Otherwise a good write, I enjoyed it.
-Wall
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hey G
a bit arcane here, wish i'd known there were foot notes before i read, but i think arcane is what you were striving for here. reminds me of opening book of poetry when i was young and feeling poetry is way above my head. i give you major kudos for reviving the style of eightenn hundreds, and even though thats not my style, this is certainly well written.
dave
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