Deep in the vaults of that great house
You could feel the weight.
Three hundred years of history, stone, and achievement
Resting on monolithic, granite foundation slabs -
Vaulted arches squatting low and strong
Above the stoves and heavy oak tables of the old kitchens.
To the manor born -not-I didn’t belong there.
Yet nor did that house belong to man or men.
Like the lands and the river it commanded, I was sure,
It had been entrusted to their keep - and nothing more.
How extraordinary that I would be allowed explore
Its rooms, its boundaries -
and its waters.
As the sun settled low towards that broadleaf blanket
Of ancient forest
I met with the gillie on a stone bridge older than Napoleon.
Below, the river flowed
Black and oily slick in the fading light
Relentless
Through space and time on that summer’s night -
Heedless of us.
The gillie knew the river as a good hand servant knows his lady-
How and when to approach her and her ways.
Pressing through briars and tall grasses we found the water’s edge
And presently our lines swooped long and lazy
over the promise of that flow.
High above us on the hill, the great house glowed,
Soft lights in the windows and busy clatter from the kitchens.
Happy voices, reassuring - distantly near.
Standing there in that contented gloom, fly-fishing
Deeply anchored in the shallows
I cared not for the sport but for the moment
And for a dream, undreamed, come true.
I will never forget
That for an hour or so that sweet June night
I owned Mount Juliet.
Author notes
If it sounds a little grand , my apologies but then it reflects this very special place and moment I was fortunate enough to experience last year.
In a list
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Comments
1 - 9 of 9
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Hey, John. This poem was a double treat for me, as not only did it make me feel that I was enjoying the splendor of some ancient estate right along with you, but my fly-fishing poem was the first that I think we really bonded over. So thanks for the pleasant trips-- down memory lane and the mansions of imagination.
I couldn't really pick out a favorite line-- I think a sign of perfection in writing is a piece where the lines are wrought together so finely, to consider one without the other would destroy the structure. So I just enjoy-- and I liked how you communicated the feeling of ownership, as well as communal ownership-- isn't it interesting how all humans covet enormous dwellings? And that when a house so grand and old reaches a certain point, it becomes a part of the landscape-- hence the feeling of proprietorship for all who enter it?
Intriguing write.
Lauren
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Heritage v. Inheritance
Couldn't have asked for a nicer reply. I hope the 'ownership' issue came across as one of heritage as opposed to inheritance, but I'm pretty sure you 'got' that point. I was a real impostor, fly-fishing away in such magnificent settings - but you don't have to be the pilot to enjoy the flight! Hope you liked the aerial photography ! Hugs >W<
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Sweet Waters
Flows like the somnabulist swell of the River Lethe. From a redolent riverbank, watching a timeless current carry all stress away with it - being able to forget oneself in its eddies.
"I cared not for the sport but for the moment"
And the moment incarcerated forever lofty Windhover, sucked through the umbilical "chord" of your fishing line again quivering with inspiration I trust.
Its work such as this that will keep this prodigal poet returning to sharepo if not to share than at least to glean fine sentiment and worthy verse.
Warmest regards
gGonefishing.
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How's life in the Belfry?
Greetings gG ! And how is my long lost buddy and bat from the belfry? You would feel right at home in Mt. Juliet I think (something from our past tells me you live in a big ol' house yourself and not without some history). Strange that it is only in hindsight we really recoginize some of the best moments. This was indeed a good one. Hope it came across. I also hope that all is well with my Gothic Guru and that the literary world continues to pay you heed and indeed tribute. You will always be on my 'friends' list here and should you decide to favour us with some more material I will instantly hear of it - and report. Hang loose my friendly flying fox! >W<
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"Grand" it may be, but some things are, paradoxically, just simply grand.
Rich with all kinds of pleasant evocations, John. I'm glad your friends urged you to "write it down" - as we all know what revelations might be lost unpenned.
As usual in your landscaped, pastoral lyricals, I could SEE this scene, as well as your nostalgic feelings about it. I'm glad you wrote this one in the past tense, as so many poets these days seem unnecessarily compelled to write in the present tense, as though they only just now felt what they're writing about. But you wisely decided, I think, to let it be past and bring it to us as, "for an hour", a sweet memory.
Some phrases in it are especially poetically fine for me:
'Relentless...heedless of us...'
'the promise of that flow...'
'dream undreamed...'
and your transition from building to river with "and its waters..." is a sure sign of skillful ease.
"Yet nor..." is a bit awkward, and I'm positive you pondered over its two words a lot in order to preserve a nice rhyme with "manor born...", but I like the sound it makes anyway; I think you made a good technical decision there.
Altogether a beauty. Now I know why, whenever I hear the word 'Ireland', I see lush and ancient green.
Btw, I looked up "gillie" and was pleasantly surprised to find it in my dictionary: a professional hunting or fishing guide. Good word.
Lad
. Rewarded 8
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The Irish Tourist Board is called 'Bord Failte'...
...and they've put me on commission to make sure YOU have that holiday here you've always threatened. I thought this would be up your river bank, Lad and you seem to have caught any nuances I was trying to get across. I'm only beginning to see that the ability to see and appreciate things for what they are is a form of real wealth. Our ideas of ownership are hugely flawed. People will talk about a place like Mount Juliet in terms of the millions it is worth or how much it costs to stay there. But it is far more special than that. If you ever DO visit Ireland, you could do worse than stay a night or two. Check out some images at http://conradhotels1.hilton.com/en/ch/hotels/photoTour.do?ctyhocn=DUBMJCI
Thanks for the comment as always. >W<
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hey john
glad to see the windover machine is back to 100 percent capacity and is cranking them out again.
i guess every dog has its day, or every peasant gets to be king-for an hour. hope you enjoyed, now back to sweeping, or whatever it is that you do.
i'm guessing this Mount Juliet is in France.
dave. Rewarded 6
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Lend me a few million Dave.
Yo Professor. Yes, I seem to have recovered some of my prolificit..prolificne.....usual verbal diarrho.....let's just say I'm back. I was boring someone with a description of Mount Juliet yesterday . They said I should write it down and that I should be a writer. So I did.
The place is right here in Kilkenny in Ireland and Tiger Woods fished that same river (the Nore) when he played in the Irish Open there a few years ago. It's really a special place though, not just the rich man's playground it might be perceived as. Anybody would feel privileged to experience it.
But yeah, it's back to the sweeping brush and dirty hands at the day job for me. Until I'm discovered and poetry makes me a millionaire that is. You couldn't let me have some of YOUR millions, just until then, could you? -
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hey john
over here we have Hearst Castle which causes you to wish you where a billionaire and could live in that type of splendor.
i think a vast sum of money might ruin us as poets. they say a lot of writers that become famous become boring. but i do wish i could make just enuf money writing to support my writing habit.
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