Spring is celebrating all around us and if you listen carefully you can hear the cuckoo call as I did while out walking on Bodmin Moor, Cornwall.
Today Today’s the day the cuckoo calls across the hills. Today’s the day the jackdaw drops her wool in surprise. Today’s the day the adder sings a tapping song. Today’s the day the frogs sulk in the reeds. Today’s the day the lamb defies its ewe. Today’s the day I walk the moor with you. Anna Chorlton
Field of Trees I’m away to the wood she shows off her green; Horse Chestnut offers fingers gloved in lime, Beech and Ash flutter a thousand butterflies, Oak reveals just a glimpse of her gown, Hawthorn clasps blossom, tight buds of May, Bluebell opens her arc petal by petal, her song arising a haze of eyes.
Hedgerow Crown She waits to dance, atop her curls a loop of hazel, woven with dandelion, daisies, bluebells, buttercups, sprays of apple. A black bird swoops taking a bloom, sings of a gift the fairies gave, sings of Spring, her regrowth. Yet there is no dance to today, asks, Where is hawthorn’s crown of May? ©Anna Chorlton
Oh, to Be. Petals hold stern as bumble reaches, dainty limbs forage. She feels a tender glare, sucks in at possibility - a darted death. She wants to take bee from its bower of pollen gluttony, close her fingers about its freedom. She wishes to sup in meadows of wild mists, fly alone through avenues of foxgloves, meet a mate with huge dark goggles, a flashy coat, lie curled against him. © Anna Chorlton 2020
Silver Y Arriving a slow, fluttering bloom of heavy wings, Silver Y settles beneath nettle edges, bramble jewels. Her cloak a layered bark; striking hooks of silver, inner flutes in navy, petticoat edged with lemon, glides - - alights crouches on birch, spider legs splayed, silent as summer. © Anna Chorlton 2020
Since the lock down began in spring, I’ve been walking the lanes, woods and moorland near where I live in Cornwall daily, writing poems and taking photographs as I go. The focus on a daily walk nearby, encouraged me to find my nature eyes and begin photography. Whereas previously I enjoyed writing about rivers and birds, I have recently fallen for every movement, texture and beauty of the Cornish countryside. Learning about wildflowers, butterflies, moths and beetles has been a joy. I have begun a project writing nature poems inspired by my photographs. The Meadow Brown butterfly was all about in mid June through to July. We counted twenty five in the lane for the Big Butterfly Count. Perfect posers they loved a patch of Michaelmas Daisies.
Meadow Brown Velvet shadow glancing, dusky backs basking, silence beckoning, wafer wings concertina, a flutter transformation. Exposing beads feathered with orange, draped in chocolate, tilting and teetering on daisies, posing, a portrait of dalliance, Summer’s companion, mesmerizing Meadow Brown.
VE Day Us West Looe girls danced freely tasting fresh new hope, ate sandwiches, drank port and lemon, chatted beneath a young May sun. The quay was full of shouting in a good way, as hearts soared, we flung our arms in the air, moved as a shoal of bespangled pilchards, scenting the day. Us West Looe girls were joyful, us West Looe girls felt relief, but as everyone danced, as everyone sang, feelings were bittersweet, it felt like tasting fruit cake left chewing on the pith, we were mindful of our mothers, quietly missing absent fathers and softly spoken brothers. Anna Chorlton
On the evening of the seventh of May 1945 the British public knew the war in Europe was about to end, a day of great celebrations was anticipated and the preparations began. The eighth of May was declared a one off public holiday. War in Europe had ended. Victory in Europe would mean a change to the suffering and restricted way of life war time Britain had come to know. It was hoped rations would come to an end as would news of loved ones deaths. Red, white and blue bunting was handed out ration free, the bakers donated bread and huge piles of sandwiches were made, every house contributed the little they had to the communal afternoon tea and the pubs were kept open well into the night. In London great crowds gathered for festivities in Trafalgar Square. My Grandma Pat was there and remembered dancing with her friends.
In Looe, Cornwall street parties were held on both sides of the river. On West Looe Quay they had a buffet and danced together through the streets. Looe is a Cornish fishing port where the rivers East and West Looe join. It is essentially two towns on either side of the river. The houses are built on steep hills leading up from the harbour. At a recent talk , ‘Memories of Looe Locals’ at The Old Sardine Heritage Centre in West Looe; men and women of Looe shared their memories of Twentieth Century Looe, including those of VE Day. The women spoke of their joy at the celebrations but also of the nagging feeling that not everyone was happy. Loved ones had lost their lives and some were yet to return from war. These memories inspired my poem VE Day .
Joining Robert Macfarlane's CoReadingVirus Twitter Global Book Group, studying Nan Shepherd's The Living Mountain, I wrote these poems as my response. Each poem is inspired by a few chapters of the book.
The opening chapters are called 'The Plateau' and 'The Recesses' . In the poem Upwards, I focused on the elements described by Nan as she introduces us to the Cairngorms. Upwards Clouds shroud the mountain regular as snow, temperature transient, void of flesh and fear. Whispers wrapper the mountain: fickle, faint and fey. Enforcing her steadfast silence, shielded by their play. Water weds the Cairngorms, wielding solace on rock. A trail of footsteps skirting dangerous shadows. Landscape winks, living, glinting within its forever lens. I'm at one with the mountain as she playfully yields my joy. Anna Chorlton
Reading chapters three and four of The Living Mountain, 'The Group' and 'Water', the reader is taken over the summit to discover a hidden loch. Nan describes deep pools in the mountains and in the valley, The River Dee. Shiver is my response. Shiver Summit's skin quivers, her secrets revealed. Icy wind forages. A white stone is thrown, water tingles in surprise, hides beneath an icy glaze. Twin streams birth a salmon beauty - River Dee, dousing every seam as water sings and sings and sings. Anna Chorlton
Chapters five and six are 'Frost and Snow' and 'Air and Light'. I began to visualise the mountain as a Giantess and Nan as her trusted companion. Giantess of the Mountain Giantess swishes cloud locks, her golden eyes eagles scouring. Alone for aeons, she spies a companion tramping pathways, day and night. Giantess shakes her hoop skirts, displaying frills of heather, tiers of mirrored pools. Reigns in ruthless blizzard tears, windy gut. Scatters stars of gossamer. Giantess shares secret glimpses of her edgy essence, her rocky rind. Anna Chorlton
Reading chapter seven, 'Life: The Plants' and chapter eight 'Life: Birds, Animals and Insects', I imagined a dialogue between Nan, the mountain explorer and mountain life. Seeker What will you give? ask the fauna of the mountain, frisking gayly. A rare gift, my wonder, I reply, following higher, higher. Sing for me, I call to the birds of the mountain, hidden, dispersed. What will you take? shrill the birds on the lag of the wind. Only hope, I whisper. Hope risen on the mountain to savour as I breathe. Anna Chorlton
Chapter nine, 'Life: Man' introduces the crofters. Chapter ten, 'Sleep'; experiences of sleeping out on the mountains. Chapter eleven, 'The Senses'; how sensitivity to the senses are heightened up in the mountain. Chapter twelve, 'Being' ; discovering the experience of mountain merging with the self. Merging with the Mountain Sleeping with hair spread along auburn heather, body crunching on briar, sensing the scuff of wind, scuffle of deer, hear a piercing peregrine or perhaps, perhaps a cat. Wild beings merge, linger in early, sunlit gleam. Wake the mountain, blink as she breathes, rise as she rolls, ripples giggle over her shins, sensation on skin, a faerie greeting. The self a kernel, emerging from within, a mountain chrysalis. Anna Chorlton.