Tag Archives

Eden

CIRCUS

Days after we had travelled east of Eden

we invented clowning and slapstick,

juggling and tumbling, magic and music,

and idleness to ease our banishment

from Paradise. So, for ninety minutes,

in this rare and aerial space of changelings

and kaleidoscopes, we watch acrobats

and clowns, conjurors and knife throwers turn back

the epochs as if pages in a book.

 

Like a sudden rush of snare drums, a brief

and heavy shower accompanies

the finale – but we emerge from the big top

into that special freshness after rain.

The church bell is tolling for evensong.

As if there were no sin, house martins

swerve and bank and twitter.

 

 

 

 

 

A SORT OF EDEN

“Did you not hear me ask Sir Thomas about the slave trade last night?…There was such a dead silence.”

MANSFIELD PARK,  Jane Austen

 

It is fitting in certain English novels

that there should be significant absences

in Bath or London, journeys of consequence

to the colonies, and banishments

to darkest Dorset or a coastal town.

It is appropriate too that there should be

rain of whatever kind falling frequently,

forcing protagonists and antagonists

to be housebound, introspective, suffer

ennui, or propinquity’s temptations,

abroad be obliged to seek shelter

with doubtful neighbours, or an unsuspecting

friend who will, in due course, become the bride or groom.

 

When Sir Thomas returned from Antigua –

having spent a whole year in person

ensuring his sugar plantations were in profit –

he ‘was grown thinner and had the burnt,

fagged, worn look of fatigue and a hot climate’.

When Fanny Price returned to Mansfield Park,

from her self-exile with her parents

in squally Portsmouth, it was spring in landlocked

Northamptonshire green with English rains.

 

Mansfield Park became, in due course – when all

had received their (more or less) just deserts –

for her a sort of Eden. Whether Sir Thomas

ever thought he heard, out in the parkland,

foul oaths, whips cracked, and thought he saw black backs

bowed we will never know.

 

 

 

SURELY

So many years of marriage should be marked,

they say, by china – the product, of course,

not the place. So a sturdy mug for us

from the Five Towns – or a translucent

teapot from Nanking? China, it is:

willows by a stream, a template of an

eastern Eden and, on the bridge, two –

or three? I know a better token.

 

Two pear trees in our daughter’s garden were

remnants of an orchard before the town grew.

A jasmine, a grapevine and the trees

had grown together in sure companionship.

With fruit (albeit a tad vintage!), leaves

for modesty, dappled shade in sharp sun,

rich perfume on a summer night, you –

a surely unbreakable paradise.