and of princesses" Frederico Garcia Lorca
Through a perspex sheeting I can see
a massive ocean pushing out her strokes;
knowing, for a time, I won’t be caught
and pulled into her cold eternity.
With all the power sea invokes,
whitened by salt, let’s not fight!
Flight! This is no place for single human power
and not because I’m older, slow in years,
unerringly losing dignity.
No! Because, unending, hour by hour,
those waves push into solid stone with tears;
unlevelled water has no fear or pity.
Poet, move on! Feeling I will stand inevitably
one day and turn back towards the flow;
against those tumblers’ sure retreat, advance,
and so re-enter sweet eternity,
traveling fast but also, even, slow
swimming through the tide with soft intent.
Now a thirst of longing - to be ‘Me’
At the base we met an old Irishman
‘No way you’ll get up that rocky terrain’
he said, waving a stick at the mountain
‘without a stave to take your weight,
to lean on hard’ and so we bought
his branches of silver birch, shoulder height.
‘They can be used as counterweight,
water diviner, fuel or weapon;
for waving or whacking or wobbling on.
‘You know all wizards have a staff
to channel power in from a shaft
of lightning. The force of Zeus is keen
to whack you with a thunderbolt
and wake you up, push you on.’
Oh yes, we bought a staff – and off we go.