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The Crow and the Pitcher

Thu 30 Jul 2015 21:11:20 | 1 comments

The Crow and the Pitcher

 

The crow was dry, with a stiff dust-cloud flight,

It longed to drink, to ease a rusty throat,

And knowing good water, dropped into the valley

For a pitcher, a vessel, or a stream bed running.

 

It longed to drink, to cure a curdled throat.

The bird found good water, locked deep in the valley

In a pitcher; a vessel, near a stream bed cracking

The jug was ivy-tangled, hid by a guardian yew.

 

The crow cried over water, barred from the world

And the jug became a well— its source echo-long down

Ringed by bricks, blocks and man-made forms

And the bird dropped one wish to its staunch reflection.

 

The well stirred at source from the echo-long down

It talked fluidly with blocks and man-made forms.

The bird dropped another wish in its loose reflection

The water drew closer; shining for the crow’s eye.

 

The water babbled cures and swept past bricks and blocks.

The bird dropped a wish into a rising tide.

The water drew closer, shining at the moon’s face.

Both shapes flowed through age-old time and dust.

 

The crow’s one wish was to be fluid in thinking

The water drew closer, rising to the bird’s thirst.

The rivers flowed forth. The crow was restored.

The bird would yet survive, and felt itself soar.

 

The rivers rushed forward, not ceasing conversation

Restoring ebb and flow and water-locking all cures

Out-living the blocks and the man-made in the valley

The crow became a chalice, and brought forth blossom, on a wingbeat.


Written by Suzanne Iuppa for FFynhonnell:Source. 

"Wells in the stairwell. Sources on the stairs. Water in the Window. Pipeline on the Wall.Film in the Frame

A multimedia installation as part of an on going series exploring what is left of lost or forgotten wells:part of a wider reflection on our increasingly tenuous relationship with water and where it comes from.

In collaboration with Sara Penrhyn Jones and Jess Allen

Gas Gallery April 2015


I have been loosely collaborating with Suzanne for almost a year now, sharing a passion for wells and their stories.

Suzanne wrote this poem in response to my rising despair over the many lost and neglected well sites, many of which are no longer considered sufficiently significant to even be marked on OS maps. 

To me this poem is a gift, suggesting that there still can be solutions on the Dark Mountain, and I am grateful.

Comments

Thanks very much for sharing Suzanne's beautiful poem Jane! I'm particularly enjoying the fact that people are uploading poems to this site! I'd say it's a 'Welsh thing' but Maggie Roe has also been uploading poetry!

One of the visual images that really interest me in this poem is 'dust'. It keeps cropping up in the poetry I'm reading, and in my own creative work. I think- partly because it's always there (of course) in some way, but also because it symbolise the past as a constant part of our present. We can never shake it off!



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