The field

A metaphor for - whatever you take out of it!

The Field

 

how long had the man been in the field?

where had he come from?

where was he going?

these matters might be a mystery to us,

but the truth was they were far from his mind!

he was just ‘in the field’

 

one fact was certain, however

he was moving, but his progress was unbearably slow

head down, he moved forward laboriously

one step at a time, heaving one rubber booted foot

from the sucking mud, moving it forward a few inches

to sink back into the same grey squelching earth

only to repeat the tedious process with the other boot

 

the man kept his head down,

cowering under the rim of his waterproof hat

scant shelter from the perpetual chill rain

all he saw was the grey glutinous mud at his feet

when he did raise his grey and deeply furrowed face

all he could see was the grey and deeply furrowed field

it stretched as far as he could see

parallel lines of heaped earth a few feet apart

sodden ditches between,

reflecting the grey sodden cloud

which seemed almost within reach

and which in all directions

merged into the grey earth below

with no sign of emotion the man lowered his face

the field was the man’s whole universe

grey earth, grey cloud,

a grey man stumbling, step by pitiful step

across a grey muddy field

 

but we’ll not watch the man for too long

we’ll look away, concern ourselves with other things

in our own universe

perhaps later, much later, we’ll look again

time will have passed for us

but nothing will have changed for the man

 

he is still crossing the field step by step

below the grey sky that lours over him

for the man crossing the field

time has ceased to exist in any meaningful sense

his slow steps across the furrows measure his passage

through space and time

left boot forward, right boot forward,

squelch, squelch

left, right, left, right

tick, tock, tick, tock

 

but as we watch, he stops,

a fissure has appeared in his universe

a scattering of torn and sodden pieces of paper

lie on the grey earth, float in the ditch

he bends down and picks one up

an old photograph, the image dirty and fading

a young woman with two children in a park

he gazes long at the image, uncomprehendingly

suddenly a neurone sparks, he gasps

‘mum, Jessie my sister, and that’s me!’

he picks up another mud stained photograph,

this time a youth with a middle aged man

the synapses fire easier this time

‘that’s me again and dad, we went to the football

two- nil to the rovers, Taylor scored in the last minute.’

he picks up the last photo, looks long at it, puzzling

a wedding photo, the couple obviously in love

a memory wells up, tantalises,

then slips away, lost forever

he shakes his head and throws it back in the dirt.

 

he pulls his left boot from the dirt, moves it forward

the photographs are left behind

forgotten by the time he has moved his right boot forward

and so for the man in the field

time passes, or doesn’t pass

he moves across the field slowly, or has he moved at all

as the field has no beginning or no end

under the grey louring sky

Reviews

[Kathy Van Kurin]

'The field'
alangraham,
'he moves across the field slowly, or ahs he moved at all' this line is one of the many which show how a person may function when the being is winding down. I think that people simply eventually burn out, mind and body. I liked your application of the contrast of former life with family and loved one with use of photographs. Life is precious.
Blessings,
Kathy

[alanwgraham]

Thanks Kathy. My 91 year old mother has signs of dementia and it frustrating for her when she can't remember but also amazing when clear memories surface from the distant past. The only blessing is that she is unaware. Hope you are well. Winter is arriving here but spring not too far behind.
Alan

[Kathy Van Kurin]

Someone near to us as well is going through the same thing. Your writing is very clear regarding this topic. I loved your above last line. Take care dear writing friend.
Kathy

[alanwgraham]

Tha nks again Neville. After i had written this I was trying to figure where it came from and then it just struck me that we'd seen the play waiting for godot recently. It must have been working away in my head. Yes, it is a very sad and scary affliction. I think the writing might help.
Regards alan

[Neville]

You have a real gift sir... I have read many poetical writes about the main character here and without doubt, 'The Field' is right up there with the best... I doubt that a single one of us has not been affected in some way by such a ruthless taker of lives and oft of dignity too, in any of its various forms and guises... I certainly have, I salute ya Alan and true.... N

[J. J. Nightingale]

I knew you in that storm
and memories flamed
and flew and became mist..
days unending turned to night
night had no soul
gave no succor
I loved you there
And I know you loved me
Once upon a time
Lost..


.............♥♥..........................................

J.J.

[alanwgraham]

Thanks for your wonderful review. Dementia is a very cruel affliction, particularly for the loved ones that have to observe it.
I hope you are well
Alan

[J. J. Nightingale]

Very well written ..and of course..I can relate... I am alive.. thanks..................and You are welcome..

[Wild Rose]

Wife's aunt had dementia
She was in a home with Oak panels all round
She had been I service all her life
The family lived in an Elizabethan Manor house with oak panelled walls all round

Aunt now had the housekeepers job
All the nursing staff were servants
She was the boss
She was happy in her ignorance of reality

[alanwgraham]

Thanks wild rose. It affects so many now and is terrible to see loved ones still there but 'gone'.read moreThanks wild rose. It affects so many now and is terrible to see loved ones still there but 'gone'.
All the best.
Alan

[Chris Shaw]

A story about dementia and its effect on the sufferer. It is a most cruel disease and causes much suffering which comes in varying stages. It is distressing for the people inflicted and their friends and families. It's strange how a break through can come once in a while, and I have heard that music can also bring the sufferer back. How joyful that must be, even though shortlived. I sincerely hope we are not far off a cure for this in the very near future. It is certainly a plague of modern times. You write very well on this subject Alan. Always good to read you. Hope all is well.

Chris

[alanwgraham]

Thanks for looking this one out Christine. The issue has become more personal now with my mother in the first stage. It is scary, sad and also a bit fascinating to see how we can unlearn and how random memories surface.
Thanks again,
Alan

[JailenMoore]

This piece is so thought provoking, Alan. At first it took me on a journey that made me relate to the man in a sense that the 'grey field' was the mundane. Upon further examination and the evidence of the photos, or the fleeting memories, I realized it was about dementia. This is very intriguing, very well done!

[alanwgraham]

Thanks very much. We don't really know how advanced dementia must feel but I felt the grey helplessness might be close. My wife is working with dementia sufferers now and knows how awful it is for the sufferers and families.
Thanks for looking at this.
Regards,
Alan

[Carolynn]

You really did a great job describing the mind of one suffering dementia alan. How sad but true that they must trudge through their life with no color, no meaning, no memory....every day the same - just a tiny flicker of something for a brief moment and then it's gone...so sad.

[alanwgraham]

Thanks for looking at this one Carolynn. Dementia is an awful affliction-on both sides of the fence!
Regards, Alan

[Ana Papaya]

This was very well written Alan.
Particularly the ending, that pieced it all together so perfectly.
I'm glad you directed me to this one.

[alanwgraham]

Thanks for taking the time to look at this and your positive comments.
Regards,
Alan

[Lee Bakes]

I slow clap you to the stage Mr. Graham. As always this again is a treat to read. At first I felt like you were actually speaking of a soldier and your aim was to point the reader in the direction of how the life of a soldier is fraught with hardship and he walks on closer and closer to his end (tick tock) through the muddy fields of war which for them never ends while for those unaffected by it (directly), its gone after we finish Front Page and our morning cuppa. However the poem as you read it is so much more. You have made us all soldiers in the battle field of life, squelching through muck and grime, and looking back occasionally at our past selves and sighing nostalgically about the fact that we were different once, we wanted different things. The imagery used toward the beginning is one of death and foreboding it is ominous to say the least and as we proceed through the poem we feel as if our soldier, our hero cannot be saved. He is forever trapped and destined to a certain future, as he walks on, the field tricks him, he has not moved and inch and yet he is not the same person. It is so sad how true this is. Thanks again for this great read.
Regards
Lee

[alanwgraham]

Thanks Lee, This review, from a writer such as yourself, means a great deal to me. You will know that from time to time something that you write just seems 'right' to you, but you are never quite sure what others might think of it. I appreciate your kind words.
Thanks,
Alan