A SENTIENT PLACE
This day marks fifty years since we came to live
in this square, detached, and spacious house, built
to a design from a Georgian pattern book
one hundred and eighty two years ago –
when the First Opium War ended, the First
Afghan War began, and the Mines Act
prohibited women, and girls, and boys
under 10 from working underground.
***
We moved in on a Valentine’s Day, the day
Solzhenitsyn began his enforced exile,
the Soviet Union like the Roman
Empire, and, indeed, Jehovah himself,
considering banishment from paradise
as the most exquisite of punishments.
***
We celebrated the move into this
domestic, suburban arcadia
by collecting a Chinese takeaway
from round the corner, and sharing it
with two close friends – one now long dead, the other
utterly lost to forgetfulness.
***
Dawn lights the birch tree through the eastern windows.
On the sedum in the small, railed garden
at the front sun sets. For two generations
lives in all their motley have found a way
to thrive beneath the roof’s adamantine slates,
among aspidistras and peace lilies,
among books, prints, paintings, among ceramics
and furniture, among music and voices,
the memorabilia of our lifetimes.
***
This is a sentient place, filled with
the light touch of fond spirits, indifferent
to the noisy dust of empires falling.
Ian Craine
March 1, 2024Beautiful!
David Press
March 1, 2024So much in this poem to love: I’m reminded of Ozymandias, but in your case, whilst empires crumble, your sanctuary of house, furnishing, friendship and memories endures. I love the notion of the Soviet Union as a paradise from which to be banished!
Tony Clifford
March 1, 2024This is a beautiful poem. Thank you for sharing.
John Plummer
March 3, 2024I sensed that the house suited you beautifully even without this lovely evocation of its history and character. Enjoy it always
Catherine Reynolds
March 14, 2024This is beautiful. It paints a picture of loving memories, of a sense of place. A place of family and friends. A quiet place of serenity and of the hubbub of social gatherings. Place and time fondly remembered against the whirligig of events beyond your hinterland. Thank you, David.