This is Part II of a two-part poem. Part I appeared a week ago, 15 October. Two of the chief characteristics of England are its rains and its ever-shifting light. This is a country that lives by and for the sea. This part of the poem probably makes it evident that I’m remembering not only the country, but also a particular Englishman. You may get to know him a bit here, as well as his country.
The Half Light of England – II
The half light of England – roses droop under rain
Morning twilight – stems sag to ground, petals drop
A burden of sea clouds scud gray over treetops
England in half light and white roses drowned
You framed dim in the doorway, always to stay
I, tainted, abandoned a continent away
You linger, ambered in roses, always the same
A moon in perigee, I am a brown tide blamed
Storm drains rush to the run at the shore
bursting with purpose and dull with weeds
like you in the doorway below the thatch
son of your country where I’ve turned my back
The half light of England and you at the door
Green ivy tendrils flutter over your head
air thick with twilight draped over the moor
inside the cottage, waits one empty bed
You framed in the door and me stationed here
both caught in the half light where nothing is clear
Faint on wet wind, chilly weight of the past
The hour of half light gone to darkness at last
Background
I have a special love for England, and I have a special love for an Englishman to whom I was married for sixteen years. He had come to North America to experience Canadian arctic exploration and adventure. His people mostly remained in the mother country; one exception was a brother who found his own undersea adventure in Australia.
We lived for half of those sixteen years in the Midwest, and the other half in San Diego where he was a police officer, and later retired as a captain in his department. During that time, we made frequent, long trips to his homeland, and I fell deeply in love with the country of his birth. When back “home: in the States, I often felt homesick for that ancient land, though I no claim on it. I would have moved there in a heartbeat; however, he had discovered his own love of American toys, space, and the greater potential for exploits. Several times, when in England, we visited his maternal grandmother, who until her death lived in a two-room, thatch cottage – no running water or refrigeration, or any other modern convenience. Her name was Lou.
Exploration #1: Now, after experiencing both parts of this poem, what additional feelings or insights do you have?
Exploration #2: Remember a former marriage, or a special, intimate partner from the past. What parallel memories come up for you about that person and about the place you lived with him or her.
Exploration #3: What is the importance of the repeated “half light”?
Your Monday poet, Jack Pine Savage
Comments
Post a Comment