Tags
2016, 8*, air, ale, breathing, countryside, earth, field, gaze, ghosts, grandfather, green, honeysuckle, Kent, life, Michael J Redford, noon, nose, quiet, sound, speech, suburbia, summer, Sunday, time
on Sundays my father downed tools and was
led by the nose – the Redford bequest –
drawing us into the quietude of Kent,
out from the crust of suburbia,
plunged deepening into green
carrying bags of sandwiches towards noon;
when, he would gaze around awhile
and “let’s try over there” as if he were only
wondering, “landlord’s name is Bert,”
he’d trail behind quietly to himself, breathing
even ghosts in through his live and open nostrils
(back, even, to the seventeenth century,
looking out over the tombstones,
creaking & checking, drinking, ale); taught me
to fathom honeysuckle
on a damp summer’s air carrying far before
the meet, to flare to the earth
of a muck heap ‘made’ well, to bask
and loiter by ammoniac stables
breathing for to clear the head, to “foller yer nose”
and find the green bean field –
cup of sweet wine drunk with intemperance –
read the collected work as it is published: here
this is an appliquiary to: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – Follow Your Nose; this piece is, of course, written from the uncle-person singular, therefore his ‘father’ was my Grandfather, who died when I was still a baby – I knew him about as much as a ruffle on the head from on high that I can remember; I have grown familiar with him through Mick’s writings and old pictures I have acquired to try and trick time out of its progress – AND IT SUCCEEDED!
————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–
air & green & Sunday wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – Follow Your Nose
breathing & speech wormhole: ah … // oh … // meanwhile … // … // tha ya ta …
field wormhole: ‘field of corn …’
ghosts wormhole: passersby
life wormhole: passing below
quiet wormhole: sleep now
sound wormhole: 1967
time wormhole: time
