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Telford

THE BRIDGE

David Selzer By David Selzer1 Comment1 min read614 views

Where the Menai Straits are at their narrowest,

between two bluffs, Thomas Telford chose to build

his one span suspension bridge, high enough

for tall ships to pass. The two towers,

exposed to the tides, were built of limestone blocks

from the Penmon quarries on the coast

north of here. Caernavon Castle had been built

from Penmon stone – and blocks were shipped to Dublin

to line the Liffey with wharfs and quays.

 

Telford, the ‘Colossus of Roads’, was reared

in penury – a stone mason by trade,

a self-taught engineer, begetter of

the A5 coaching road, erstwhile Watling Street;

the London-Holyhead trunk from Marble Arch

to Admiralty Arch by the Irish Sea.

 

Built a generation later, a mile south

and within sight, is Stephenson’s railway bridge.

Two British industrial colossi

so close in space and time! So much investment,

ingenuity, innovation, to keep

the Catholic colonies of Ireland,

those reserves of navvies and wheat, in thrall!

 

Between the bridges are The Swellies

around Fish Trap Island – Ynys Gorad Goch –

whirling at high tide, lake calm at low water.

The Druids, deemed Rome’s enemies, were hunted.

They crossed here in coracles, felt safe at last

on Ynys Môn, Mam Cymru.  They watched the soldiers

swim like dogs across the sacred waters.

Rome’s mercenaries ran them down like boar,

skewering them among the flowering gorse.

 

 

 

 

A SHORT HISTORY

For a generation, like weather cocks,

their skeletons swung near the highway.

James Price and Thomas Brown had robbed the Mail.

Years turned. The Gowy flooded and the heath

flowered. Travellers noted the bones

hanging in chains by the Warrington road.

Justices ordered the gibbet removed,

the remains disposed of. In Price’s skull,

while Napoleon was crossing the Alps

or Telford building bridges or Hegel

defining Historical Necessity

or Goya painting Wellington’s portrait,

a robin made its nest.

 

 

Note: first published on the site April 2009.

 

 

 

A SHORT HISTORY

For a generation, like weather cocks,
their skeletons swung near the highway.
James Price and Thomas Brown had robbed the Mail.
Years turned. The Gowy flooded and the heath
flowered. Travellers noted the bones
hanging in chains by the Warrington road.
Justices ordered the gibbet removed,
the remains disposed of. In Price’s skull,
while Napoleon was crossing the Alps
or Telford building bridges or Hegel
defining Historical Necessity
or Goya painting Wellington’s portrait,
a robin made its nest.

 

 

Note: first published April 2009.

 

 

 

THE GARLAND

David Selzer By David Selzer1 Comment1 min read481 views

Walking on the towpath of Telford’s canal,
admiring the engineer’s genius,
from the horseshoe shaped weir on the Dee,
which siphons off the mountains’ waters
to fill the channels from here to Hurleston;
remarking the current that combs the grasses
that lie on the bed like Ophelia’s hair;
breathing in the smell of the wild garlic –
a favourite of brown bear and wild boar;
marvelling at its white starbursts, like snow
on the wooded banks below the canal;
passing the holiday narrow boats –
with their tvs and showers and toilets;
we round a curve and see, with the landscape
of river vale, fields and unwalled hills
behind them, three girls laughing and one
with a garland of flowers of wild garlic.

 

 

 

A SHORT HISTORY

For a generation, like weather cocks,
their skeletons swung near the highway.
James Price and Thomas Brown had robbed the Mail.
Years turned. The Gowy flooded and the heath
flowered. Travellers noted the bones
hanging in chains by the Warrington road.
Justices ordered the gibbet removed,
the remains disposed of. In Price’s skull,
while Napoleon was crossing the Alps
or Telford building bridges or Hegel
defining Historical Necessity
or Goya painting Wellington’s portrait,
a robin made its nest.

 

 

 

Note: The poem was first published by Chester Academic Press – http://Ashley Chantler (Ed), Life Lines: Poems from the Cheshire Prize for Literature 2004, 2005, ISBN 978-1-902275-51-2, £5.00.  It was one of the first pieces to be published on the website in April 2009 and was subsequently published in ‘A Jar of Sticklebacks’ – http://www.armadillocentral.com/general/a-jar-of-sticklebacks-by-david-selzer

 

 

 

A PARABLE

Ynys Goredd Goch, Menai Straits © Sylvia Selzer 2008

 

For Caroline Reeves

 

We pulled into the lay-by above the straits

so that our friend could see the view: Telford’s

iconic suspension bridge, beyond

the Carnedd Range and, below us, Ynys

Goredd Goch, Red Weir Island – a house,

out-buildings, disused fish trap, slipway –

surrounded by The Swellies, tidal whirlpools

and surges driven by the rocks and shoals.

 

A small crowd had gathered in the lay-by.

On the island, there was a smaller group.

Suddenly, there was the dull pulsing

of rotors. A Sea King arrived. Someone

in the crowd said someone in the crowd said

a drowning swimmer had been rescued

by someone on the island – and someone else

said the Sea King’s pilot was the heir to the

heir to the throne. How we do love the stuff

of legend! The swimmer, whoever he was,

was an ignorant fool. The pilot and crew,

whoever they were, were skilled, brave and selfless.