Living in the Lakes

Living in the Lakes I am often struck
by the sensation that life
is going on within the pages
of The Lords And The New Creatures.

It could be just a slant of light
that gives the game away,
the remnant evanescence behind the fell
when the sun has set and the fell darkened.

It’s either that or Nirvana
Unplugged In New York.
For that I think of rivers,
such as the River Esk to the north.

In the summertime, we like to go
outdoor swimming in the Esk.
Today the weather has cooled
so it is not a good time to go.

So I could speak of a “storied” world,
a mythographic universe intact,
an infradiegetic existence
saturated with inter-textuality,

or I could talk of sheep and cows,
the way the rain falls at a slant,
the green-ness of the grass,
and all of Nature’s abundance.

It is a pretty place to live,
which Jim Morrison himself
intended to visit on one of his trips,
but never got round to in the end.

The fell overlooks with its bald,
blank forehead. Driving from town
it appears a great, slumbering
diplodocus come to fat and die

by the Irish Sea; but nearer
the foot you see it could be Buddha,
Buddha levitating. Walking
up could be Western meditation...

but if you mention the slow
ascent up flat, gradual paths,
I think more of a bullet to the top
of a telegraph pole, or even the kettle

that rises to its silent scream,
its steam Ariel returning on Caliban’s
chain. No, I have not been up
the fell for a long time now; so

it’s like I am growing into one
of the locals! But to the fleeting,
evanescent backdrop of dying light
behind the darkened fell at perfumed sunset

I often turn, stare until life grows
detached, naked, until I remember
how weird everything is, how
mysterious and magical the universe.


John F.B. Tucker

If you have any thoughts about this poem,  John F.B. Tucker would be pleased to hear them