The Field

THE ARGUMENT

An itinerant treads through the fields in London, Wales and England, picking through the debris of a culture war, heading back home to the north. They record the thoughts of objects and see the others talking and gesturing, haunted by visions and dreams of the past and future. The field repeats, each time slightly differently. In each field a different assemblage – maybe a castle, or a festival, or a bird

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Wetherby Road

The wood gate is crisp
driftwood’s dry mirror –
and the church behind
is the rock upon
which the waves crash hard.

This hubbub decries –
with the tree’s creaking –
those who seek a peace.
Really there is no
well chiselled message;

In the graveyard hear
soft undefined hums
of voice and organ
mixing in hollows –
hear wind whistle through.

Hear your insecure
thoughts tapping upon
the stained glass dust – hear
choral doom and then
lays of the bright voice;

continuity
in time’s long empire
has brought the air here
and the soft water
and me

Republic

The deep-house beats fall
from the window – hit
sunbeams combing the heat
fall down simmering streets

It’s royal wedding day – but I
can only focus on this
bunch of dead flowers,
strapped to a lamp-post –

The cellophane wrap flutters
around the dry remnants
framed by estates and hills
and glints from windscreens

I’m not saying something,
shocked by the light’s irradiance
the faintly dissonant organ
of which echoes softly pour

Notre Dame

What vaults, and well lit
and the gloaming cross, witness
the infidelity of the throng.
They fill the looming vaults with talk:
the talk of the street, and the dining hall.
The many silent signs, supplicant, are passed
like beggars on the street are passed –
“I don’t have any cash” – lied to, ignored.
Wasn’t this worth more, I think, than that?

Then, they don’t have the time to be quiet,
to waste away on an unspoken diet.
It’s a husk, inhabited by so many worms
eating, slowly, the pews
and drinking the holy water
which was only water after all, after queues
like that in their plastic bottles.

But what vaults, and well lit.
Couldn’t they just be quiet?
Just for a little bit?