Arbor Low

[poliphilo]

My friend veronica_milvus just posted an excellent poem about Arbor Low- the Derbyshire henge. It prompted me to dig out my effort- written nearly 20 years ago- and tidy it up. Gib Hill (short for Gibbet Hill) is a few minutes walk from the henge. It's a neolithic barrow with a bronze age barrow on top of it and- yes- at some stage- I suppose in the 18th century- there was a gibbet there.

                                    ARBOR LOW

 

                                    Aileen stayed in the four wheel drive.

                                    This was the sensible thing to do.

 

                                    The wind was pure unpleasantness,

                                    Slinging the rain like fistfuls of gravel,

 

                                    Beating the gnarly stones.  They looked

                                    Friable, like left-over wodges

 

                                    Of dirty snow.  When I imagine

                                    A priesthood for these places I see

                       

                                    Such men and women as Stukeley emoted

                                    In oakleaf coronets- not today;

 

                                    This weather favours no ghosts but the slatted,

                                    Air-treading low-lives of Gibbet Hill.

Comments

[poliphilo.livejournal.com]

I used to subscribe to a lot of small poetry magazines. Some of them published me. In the end I became disillusioned. To make a career in poetry you have to be really, really pushy, a shameless self-publicist and know all the right people. Also, it almost certainly helps to live in a metropolis, where you are in a position to attend the parties.

Faber have a website, do they? I may go and take a peek.