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Huntingdonshire Eclogues
| Article
# : |
17638 |
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Section : |
THE ARTS
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| Issue
Date : |
6 / 1990 |
1,087 Words |
| Author
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John Greening
John Greening is a widely published poet residing in
Huntingdon, England. |
I
Widescreen, to Gone with the Wind themes, the Spaldwick road
Slow-pans you towards forgotten footage...You spot the odd barn;
A token hawthorn butt; and countless anonymous farm-tracks--
But the tracks are too straight; harder than they need be.
Each barn, as you make your approach, becomes a corrugated hut.
The road unreels its title sequence but your senses are enmeshed
By the foulness of Brussels, silage, or is it that dead hare
You swerved to avoid? You do not expect to find living things out here.
No house for miles, and apart from the bird-scarers, bird-noise
Would be the only sound if you were to wind down the glass:
peewits' Low-level, high-volume aerobatics; or the viffing of skylarks--
Like two half-witted, crack-voiced veterans of the old hundred:
Make a joyful noise unto the Lord of Air-space! And so it fell
That half a century ago Dwight Eisenhower sowed the bulldog's teeth.
But there was no Golden Fleece; only, somewhere over the rainbow,
The Rhein ablaze...Now, occasionally, in the summer, a coachload
Of balding shades will pause on its way from the Madingley graves to hear
That this is the village where Clark Gable's suits were tailored
And none will be told the uncanny tale that the village keeps and
Does not advertise; the local man who was up and out early jogging
The broken runways: who saw what he saw, which is said to have been--
But secrets are what the Spaldwick road keeps best: the mist
Encloses them more surely than the perimeter wire seals
...
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