Arthur Evans

We are heading directly south out of town

on Leoforos Knossou – Boulevard

Knossos – a straight kilometre long

dual carriageway with oleander bushes

in the central reservation, and lined,

on both sides, with parked cars and really useful

emporia: like banks, greengrocers,

ironmongers, and proper places to eat.

After Venezelio Hospital

it suddenly becomes a country road,

and shortly we arrive at the site,

and park up under a jacaranda.

 

Whatever the Boeing 737

Series 800 substituted

for fresh air has laid my grand daughter

and me a little low, so only

the idea – rather than the facts of

the excavation – appeals. Anyway

we have been here before. Now we are sitting

in the shade of a pine tree planted

by the archaeologist, Arthur Evans.

We can hear one of the official guides

who has a pronounced Australian

or New Zealand accent, and wonder

if she only guides visitors from

the Antipodes. In the quiet

after she has gone we hear the hoopoes

somewhere in the valley of olive groves

beyond the high wire-mesh boundary fence.

 

A tabby cat walks across the Western Court,

and people seem to give way to her.

My grand daughter follows with her camera.

When she returns she tells me the cat

had placed her kittens securely behind

one of Arthur’s pines. The photos show

the litter – some tabby too, some black and white –

suckling in what seems a tumble of fur,

the mother watchful. A small crowd gathered,

she tells me. I imagine the simple,

sentient spectacle: a tall, slender girl

photographing a cat and her kittens.