The Vicarage, Morwenstow - the beautiful house built for the eccentric Reverend R S Hawker See also The Wreck of the Caledonia |
My
siblings and many cousins will no doubt remember our big family
holidays in North Cornwall and Devon
and
staying at the vicarage in Morwenstow
and
the little room called The Eyrie that looked down into the
courtyard
and
how the bees had built a huge hive in the ceiling
which
became so laden with honeycomb that the plaster bulged ominously
and how inevitably it had to go.
For
homework from my writing class last week, we were asked to write a
piece on "consequences" and we were given a poem TheWasps by David Constantine as inspiration. This is my
response.
we
are the bees
(because
she is here)
that
fizzed in and found her (be-
cause
she is here) and we have
been
fuming about
the
blooms
of
this summer
garden
(because she is here)
supping
colours up from yellow
cowslips
and black-ey'd susans
till
we are foxglove
dust
laden
with
sunny set
honey-suckle
pollen (because
she
is here) and we are thick-covered
with dusky jasmine warmth with
carousing courage from
our
craving labours
and
we have found
the
hole between blockstone
and
mortar (because she is here)
worn
by rain these two hundred
years
that leads to the
cavern
within
the
roof among
the
smoky joists above
the
plaster and we have stocked our
larder
(because she is here) full of
plenty
with this season's
sucking
and churning
and
spittling and
wraggling
and you human
can
see the bulging pendulous
bagsacks
of our great labours
groaning
(because
she
is here)
combing
(because
she
is here) in the flaking
ceiling
and you come and crack-
make with your bullnose
chisel
(because
she
is here)
and
your mallet
and
your shrouded hat
and
your tight-cuffed sleeves
and
your tarry fumes and you
chop
us out drowsy
(because
she
is
here) in this
evening
as this sun's day sets
sizzling
into the sailing sea and
yes
you hesitate (because she is
here) but still you
burn
us up
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