Fields

Someone who had briefly entered my life recently spoke of how visualising walking out into a meadow was a way they used to imagine healing. It has led me to think a lot about fields and how they have been a reoccurring presence in my poems and how writing has been a form of healing for myself.

One poet and in particular one poem that left a very early strong impression on me was ‘High Waving Heather’ by Emily Bronte; although not strictly to do with fields it is suffused with the mysterious force and influence of nature within it. It is poem that is particular good at placing light and shade next to each other.

There is also a scene from the film ‘Mirror’ by director Andrei Tarkovsky where a man sits on a broken fence and watches wind and sunlight in perfect sync travel the field laid before him. Rippling the grass as it approaches before rattling some nearby trees, passing through the man and the viewer.

Both poem and film scene carries a true sense of wonder and mystery and of how things can change in an instant. Almost as if nature is saying there is occasionally order amongst all my chaos, these brief glimpses can bring healing and hope or the destruction and pain that can come with revelation, realisation, rebirth?

All this reminiscing about fields has led me to remember another early poem I wrote about an solitary old blue door in a field of tall pale yellow grass. So I have attempted to evoke it again from memory before re-equating myself with the original.

 

Re-imagined/Remembered

Blue Door

 

There’s a  blue door

alone and ajar in a field

once bright as a clear sky

faded now to a powder blue

fractured as a desert floor

scars pale as the blonde

of the tall grass

 

brushing it backwards

the crumbling frame

feels the wind’s fur darken

as it silks through its opening

slipping from the field

into the same field

 

and I imagine you

stepping through the door

scattering a handful

of silver-blue petals of ash

edges still glowing

a slow burning song

settling into the dry grass

 

The original

Blue Door

 

There’s a blue door ajar

in a field of blonde grass

cracked and kicked by the sunshine,

tattered as a weathered billboard

its hinges unhinged

swings gentle as a whale’s tail

as the wind silks through it;

plays at running in and out

through it’s crumbling frame.

Running from the field

into the same field.

 

After seeing them together some imagery has been remembered and carried over from the years along with the general theme of somehow everything changing inexplicably because of the passing through the door. The wind silking through the door is still just as important along with the phrase ‘from the field into the same field’; although what is some what interesting is that this phrase has become more central, a turning point of the new poem as opposed to the ending in the original. There is a descriptive passage in the original that I really enjoy for its imagery.

‘tattered as a weathered billboard

its hinges unhinged

swings gentle as a whale’s tail’

Still undecided if they have earned a place in the new poem? Or if these poems can be fused and unified into a more complete third?

 

 

 

 

 

 

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