For the (fictional) series, "Edges"
His Voice
On the Headland
His Voice
On the Headland
Up here, back from the edge,
the sod is black, damp.
The clumps of spiky grass
are slick and boggy.
"Monsoon weather," people mutter,
straggling from church, and shrug:
a dour flock. I decide to avoid
walking here on future Sundays.
I am used to the lot
of wayfarer, not sojourner.
Now, the potted meat I'm pressing
under the table leg says I'm settled.
As the weather grows hotter
I start to acclimatise, becoming slowly
acquainted with this combination
of the wild elements.
I don't speculate how long I'll stay here.
I expect forever – or whatever's left
to me of forever.... Why bother hurrying
to put down roots? They'll deepen.
Lots fitted in to pleasing stanzas here, a happily rolling narrative with hints of the underlying life story.
ReplyDeleteWonderful! Yes, that is the thing about roots, isn't it? They always seem to deepen.
ReplyDeletepotted meat.. that is one incredible visual... !!!!
ReplyDeleteI remembered my mother and grandmother doing that when I was little, and somehow it seemed to fit with this chap's personality and circumstances. I think he would be self-sufficient in an old-fashioned way.
DeleteAnd of course, it's an operation that takes time and trouble.– hence evidence of 'settling'.
DeleteLet us all take life as it comes.
ReplyDeleteMy goodness this is potent!💜 It takes time to truly settle down in a new place. I am still adjusting to the extreme weather here in Kuala Lumpur..
ReplyDeleteThat''s interesting. I have never been to KL and didn't know it had extreme weather.
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ReplyDeleteA beautiful narrative of a nomad. No roots required!
Yes, you've understood exactly.
DeleteYes, it is best to take it easy rather than rush and be disappopinted more quickly; This way you gradually fit in and others will see you as not a bother!
ReplyDeleteI don't think the bloke in my poem would worry about being a bother!
DeleteThe last stanza is so damn poignant. So well put together !
DeleteI loved every line of this, especially the closing ones.
ReplyDeleteAnd his being the way of the wayfarer, not sojourner. What a wonderful line.
ReplyDeleteThe idea of forever having an ending stayed with me. I wonder what's eating time...
ReplyDeleteI had to laugh at the potted meat pressed under the table leg. What an inglorious and incongruous shim! Love it!
ReplyDeleteI imagine you walking in Ireland. The potted meat under the table making you feel settled is weirdly wonderful.
ReplyDeleteWell, I imagined it set in Australia – but I guess it could be anywhere with comparable landscape.
DeleteLove the way this melds the human/impermanent (potted meat, letting the unfamiliar be a monolithic group) and the sense of a solid community at the same time (inevitable roots within damp soil, the dour group that nevertheless seems equal to the monsoon).
ReplyDeleteThank you for this attentive reading!
DeleteRoots are optional for some... but that day comes when you just stop moving... at the place you happen to be... maybe the roots will come with time.
ReplyDeleteSo much to reflection and insight toenjoy here Rosemary - a lovely piece that you draw to a conclusion beautifully.
ReplyDeleteYes a great way to view the future....don't rush....enjoy the moment and get acquainted with your surroundings for the duration.
ReplyDeleteNo point in putting down roots if one's in a mind to keep roving.
ReplyDeleteWonderful lines !
ReplyDeleteWhy bother hurrying
ReplyDeleteto put down roots? They'll deepen.
Exactly, one need not worry nor need to bother! Just move on! Classic close and good stand to take, Rosemary!
Hank
All wanderers stop at some stage but delay it as long as possible. Those who wander are not lost. Someone important said that. Can't remember who. Am going to have to research what potted meat is:)
ReplyDeleteI love that fractions of forever and the attitude associated with it. Nice to take life as it comes.
ReplyDeleteI love the description of the headland, Rosemary, with the black sod and spiky grass - it really sets the scene. I also like the detail of the muttering people.
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