The Strings of Dee

 

The Strings of Dee

 

Here beside the Dee, looking at Welsh hills and Wirral countryside

I see the sparkle of air-frost spangling sparse-clad winter trees;

Skeins of geese stretch, arrow-headed, across a night sky, deep and wide;

Silhouetted across a silver, misted moon, fanned by a breeze

Of speeding, flight inducing power – it is the hour

To swoop, to wade, to roost and, with homing clamour, seize

The loneliness, peace and estuary calm of places yet unspoiled,

Where rivers penetrate ancient mudflats, to meet seas

Whose crustacean life charges the tidal reaches’ coils

For waders, which do not form arrowheads across the moon

Or fan frosty mist drifts in the winter’s jewelled sky,

But scurry, dipping and bobbing their heads

in time to the lapping, ceaseless tune

Of breeze-blown waters; and grasses bending with the crooning wind’s cry.

And now, it is deep night, redolent with the fragrances that only night brings;

All is silent, save for sounds of reeded river breathing,

Humming through detritus of an estuary’s cold-taut harp strings

Of grasses, masts and ropes and other several items of man’s leaving.

 

John L. Berry. 15^th December 2008.

 

 

 

Reviews

[R J Askew]

I think this is one of the best of yours that I have read. I like the subject matter and the observational stance of the poem with the poet on the outside. I like the aspects of nature you focus on to build the picture and sense of place. The overall feeling is one of harmony with that place and wonder at its magic. I especially like the detail about the frosted trees as I saw such a sight a couple of weeks ago myself for the first time in my life. This is the sort of writing I aspire to do at some point. English nature observed, with us taken out of it. I find nature poetry very uplifting. This poem puts me in mind of one by Ted Hughes of ponies standing on a misty moor.

[Emily B]

I feel a kinship with these words. Memories of hours spent reading the words of my favorite Appalachian poets came floating back on the wings of the birds you described. It's only an ocean, right?

Lovely, lovely words.

[Wondering Mind]

Your description is immaculate, painting pictures perfect in perspective, weaving words with skill and obvious talent, much like a small silk Kashan carpet

[emmajoy]

' And now, it is deep night, redolent with the fragrances that only night brings;All is silent, save for sounds of reeded river breathing, Humming through detritus of an estuary's cold-taut harp stringsOf grasses, masts and ropes and other several items of man's leaving.'

What a beautiful description.. especially the ending, although really, there's not a line that doesn't conjur up a precise touch to a wonderful picture of the Dee estuary.

'I see the sparkle of air-frost spangling sparse-clad winter trees; Skeins of geese stretch, arrow-headed, across a night sky, deep and wide; Silhouetted across a silver, misted moon, fanned by a breezeOf speeding, flight inducing power ' - this is another area where you paint a picture with words, John.

Thank you, thank you for sharing such a clear and extraordinary picture of a scene which you appear to love.