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Seer

Donald Smith

for John Ruskin

“and through those eyes
now filled with dust,
the light of nature”

One

Pacing on the high walk
we catch an evening sun
stepping in the footmarks
which evaporate as crystal
droplets from the green
terrace that you built
as benison, a sight
received astonished
skyblue lake spread
below precipitous craggy hills.

But I sense your eyes
turned inward
because the light was dimming
umbered, the clefts
of climbing rock defiled
by acid showers.
The glacier waves are ebbing
you have seen you know
the pristine azure
thinning water soured.

Monsters on the plain
spume flame and smoke
obscure the vision
spikes driving through
into your mind, the voice
of the prophet
has fallen vacant
though walking with me
on the moist earth, grass
springs beneath your feet

Two

Look down to the ground
rock grinding striations
smooth and rough
weathered shapes
impress infinite
forms of beauty
patterning mineral
constructs of fire and light
fused elementally
conjoined eternally
in my silence
even stone gives tongue
to see to know
to know to feel
gave my wound to a stone
love.

Look at my hand
fern weaves in the wind
green-fingered tapestry
uncurls sprouts
from dark tubers
thick rooted virr
between soil and stone
by such leaves
we live and breathe
a purer air

in my silence
even stone gives tongue
to see to know
to know to feel
gave my wound to a stone
love.

Look where my thigh,
breast brushes
the stalk pith
that breaks seamless
spear buds into pink
rose red purple
flowers foxglove
continuously growing
each stage of life
from leaf to art.

in my silence
even stone gives tongue
to see to know,
to know to feel,
gave my wound to a stone
love.

Look where I stand
to watch water tumbling
brown-back down
between the mossy
boulder rooted coiling
rivulets of silver
gleam whirl
now wave now stream
cascading past my trunk
and outstretched branches

in my silence
even stone gives tongue
to see to know,
to know to feel,
gave my wound to a stone
love.

Sensed as I wait
for Arthur on his seat
to raise my head
beyond the canopy a star
in deep never-ending night
orb host heaven
mica jewelled
whose queen can heal
the hurt that she herself
in darkness rendered

in my silence
even stone gives tongue
to see to know,
to know to feel,
gave my wound to a stone
love
there flows
there flows.


Donald Smith

Reproduced by permission of the author.

Tags:

geology landscape poems inspired by artworks the subliminal weather
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Donald Smith

Donald Smith, Director of the Scottish Storytelling Centre, is a storyteller, novelist, playwright and performance poet. He is the author of several books on Robert Burns, and Luath Press published his first collection of poetry in 2004.
More about Donald Smith

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