Excavation
Excavation
Day 16: write a poem in the form of a list to defamilliarize the mundane. Lucy English's 'Things I Found in the Hedge ' was given as an example, and prompted me to remember the things we found when we tackled the wild area in our garden last summer turning it into a vegetable plot. Like the poem, it's not finished, but it's getting there.
First: the living layer, lending a cloak of invisibility to all beneath
Brambles, with thorns that catch on skin and clothes
each bead of blood ruby red in reproach
Nettles, with super strong venom, skin raised
in angry welts that sting for days
Buttercups, with runners spreading across the ground
like a gigantic web for yards around
Bind weed, roping everything close tight,
ripping away in satisfying sheets
Dock plants, with their thick long leaves, where were you
when we needed you?
Second: the surface layer, forgotten objects now revealed
Bricks, a scattered pile of left overs, from a project
to tame the hillside with a set of steps
Door frames, discarded from a shed, forgotten
on their way to the dump, now rotting
Hazel branches, in a pick-a-stick pile,
which almost made it to a bonfire
The bath, removed and replaced with a shower
intended for a wildlife pond bower
A single glove, taken off, put down, then lost
buried, hidden, amongst the rest.
Third: the root layer, just below the surface
Ironwork, nails, chains, hinges, catches, blades,
rusted, encrusted, rusting for decades
Pipes and conduits, complete with cables
discarded by previous unknown owners
Glass bottles, all shapes and sizes, now filled with soil
empty of fish paste, Marmite, medicine, milk and oil.
Fourth: the soil layer
Tilth, loamy and full of vegetational promise
enriched with years of composting leaves
Stones and rocks, large ones taken to build a wall
small ones left to break up the soil
Worms that glisten wetly in the sun, then disappear underground
to rejoin beetles, woodlice, larval cases, and ants.
All these layers, this richness, tidied and tamed
into four productive, raised vegetable frames.
Day 16: write a poem in the form of a list to defamilliarize the mundane. Lucy English's 'Things I Found in the Hedge ' was given as an example, and prompted me to remember the things we found when we tackled the wild area in our garden last summer turning it into a vegetable plot. Like the poem, it's not finished, but it's getting there.
First: the living layer, lending a cloak of invisibility to all beneath
Brambles, with thorns that catch on skin and clothes
each bead of blood ruby red in reproach
Nettles, with super strong venom, skin raised
in angry welts that sting for days
Buttercups, with runners spreading across the ground
like a gigantic web for yards around
Bind weed, roping everything close tight,
ripping away in satisfying sheets
Dock plants, with their thick long leaves, where were you
when we needed you?
Second: the surface layer, forgotten objects now revealed
Bricks, a scattered pile of left overs, from a project
to tame the hillside with a set of steps
Door frames, discarded from a shed, forgotten
on their way to the dump, now rotting
Hazel branches, in a pick-a-stick pile,
which almost made it to a bonfire
The bath, removed and replaced with a shower
intended for a wildlife pond bower
A single glove, taken off, put down, then lost
buried, hidden, amongst the rest.
Third: the root layer, just below the surface
Ironwork, nails, chains, hinges, catches, blades,
rusted, encrusted, rusting for decades
Pipes and conduits, complete with cables
discarded by previous unknown owners
Glass bottles, all shapes and sizes, now filled with soil
empty of fish paste, Marmite, medicine, milk and oil.
Fourth: the soil layer
Tilth, loamy and full of vegetational promise
enriched with years of composting leaves
Stones and rocks, large ones taken to build a wall
small ones left to break up the soil
Worms that glisten wetly in the sun, then disappear underground
to rejoin beetles, woodlice, larval cases, and ants.
All these layers, this richness, tidied and tamed
into four productive, raised vegetable frames.
© Copyright 2019. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved
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