This place lies at the end of all,
journey, road and land and time.
A house squats, gripping at the coast,
resisting the Atlantic squall.
The madman lives behind the barn,
mouldering in his mouldered box.
Weeds have nibbled crumbled walls,
held earthbound with stones and yarn.
Matchless beauties now displayed,
far-flung under endless skies.
Barra, Rum and Eigg and Muck,
sparkling emerald brocade.
The madman whispers with the rocks,
as kinsfolk from a distant time
and place (he came out of the North),
caressing gently as he talks.
At night the sky is glittered fine,
no street lights here to dazzle eyes.
The corncrake’s rasp, the curlew’s cry,
night air that tastes of honeyed wine.
The madman rattles at the gate,
demented in the midst of night.
Within his head they come and go
the vehicles his dreams create.
The croft at Easter stuns the eye,
wild flowers abound in every hue.
Hares box and frolic in the yard
as larks and plovers fill the sky.
The madman was flown out today,
I saw the plane that ripped the sky.
It droned away to Inverness,
into the sun across the bay.
This gentle, peaceful afternoon,
waves crash, bees buzz and all is well.
The sky is blue and cloudless now,
the sun consorting with the moon.
He came here to his Sister’s side,
a hundred million lives ago.
Days were long and rocks were young,
he came to soothe a widowed bride.
I stand here at the end of all,
to contemplate the ways of time.
And with the ocean’s ebb and flow,
my heart-sobs rise, my teardrops fall.
Oli 24/01/08
|
Oh Oli,
Written by audrie (454 comments posted) 24th January 2008 |
My teardrops are nearly falling too. I loved this poem, but then I admire all your poetry.
It is beautiful, haunting and one can see the picture you are painting with your words.
More, please. |
Written by Fledermaus (3470 comments posted) 24th January 2008 |
| Painted the picture well indeed, although the story behind it remains a little foggy. With your poems it's sometimes hard to make out what's metaphor and what's not, so I tend to take them literally. Some of the words chosen remind me of mythological texts. They seem to fit well. Interesting poem. Perhaps I should reread it another time again. |
Written by Talisker (1331 comments posted) 24th January 2008 |
There is no metaphor in the tale Batty. It's about a holiday home I stayed in where a madman lived in a ramshackle caravan in the garden. The house had belonged to his dead sister (she died suddenly of breast cancer). He went mad and was eventually taken away to hospital in a plane.
The most beautiful place on Earth, the maddest man I've ever encountered. No subtle metaphors.
The entire poem is a metaphor for the madness of our time.
Oli
|
Written by DressedInPoetry (23 comments posted) 24th January 2008 |
What I admire most (other than the story, which is beautiful and tragic) is the fact that you can make a rhyme without making it seem awkward. There are a lot of poems that just seem awkward because the author tried too hard to get the rhyme and lost what he or she was trying to portray, but not with this.
Very pretty, and very haunting. |
Hi Oli
Written by beatricelouise (215 comments posted) 25th January 2008 |
I like the idea of this poem being a metaphor of the madness of our time.
You surely have written a haunting poem as already has been said.
The one thing I noticed, the sister died of breast cancer suddenly. I think this is the only problem with the story. One does not die suddenly of breast cancer, unless it was not detected until the final stage. Just my opinion. |
Written by Talisker (1331 comments posted) 25th January 2008 |
Hi BL
I spoke to her for the first and only time in February 1998, and she was well. I loved her enthusiasm about our visit - her love of the place.
By the end of June 1998 she was dead. That is sudden enough for me.
Oli
|
Written by Phil (6951 comments posted) 26th January 2008 |
Hi Oli,
There's much I really like in this: the gentle rhyme and the lilting pace and pattern that reflects the movement of the sea and softens the nature of the story; your attachment to the place comes through strongly and your feeling for the people. Even though distance is kept from the brother by calling him the madman and not by name - the emotion revolves around him, his removal and what comes after.
It has all the immediate appeal of your best work and taps into broader humanity and nature and links the two. The sense of place and connection with others is very strong.
The narrative aspect didn't quite tie the verses together - somehow - I'm not sure that's exactly what I mean. I guess you only want enough to suggest the whole story and to hang the rest of the piece on. I didn't want more explicit - just a little more.
I like this very much, Oli. Out of my depth commenting sensibly on quality poetry. Just a response - I hope it's of some use.
Phil. |
The lunatic is on the grass..
Written by coosh (922 comments posted) 2nd February 2008 |
| Right up my street, I think this is fantastic. Love the rhythm of the guy violently rattling the gate, followed by the peaceful, haunting atmosphere following his departure. It stands up as a simple story in itself, without looking for metaphors. The sort of piece one wishes one had the talent to write. Will come back again to it. |
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