I can see here the curvature and compass
of the world. From the embankment that
separates the enclosed, salt-water Marina –
crowded today with summer holiday
novice canoeists – from the Dee Estuary,
I can see, east, a hundred metres away,
The Promenade; south – beyond the dinghies
moored midstream, their halyards tinkling
in the steady breeze – the white cooling towers
and the cable-stayed bridge at Connah’s Quay;
west, Flintshire’s industrial shore rising
steeply into the green Clwydian Hills,
where a fire has begun in the gorse
and the bracken on Holywell Common;
north west, Hilbre, island of erstwhile
pilgrimage then commerce; north – beneath
the horizon where ships wait for high tide
to cross the Liverpool Bar – West Kirby’s beach,
stretching into a mile of sand flats that ends
where the distant waves break ashen and silent.
Clwydian HillscommerceConnah’s Quaycooling towerscurvature and compass of the worlddee estuaryFlintshirehalyardsHilbreHolywell Commonindustrial shoreLiverpool BarMarinapilgrimageWest Kirby.
John Huddart
September 2, 2013This is a poem about stillness, about disengagement, about an absence. It is full of significance that is resolutely untaken. You recognise the signs in the landscape. Sense they vibrate over the horizon. There is a time for being silent. Of letting things be what they are.