Birch Grove
Shaun Castle 03 June 2006
Birch Grove, Tallantire Hall
At the back of a garden, in earshot of river water,
In a corner walled off like the baths or bake-house
Of an unroofed abbey or broken-floored Roman villa,
They have planted their birch grove. Planted it recently
only,
But already each morning it puts forth in the sun
Like their own long grown-up selves, the white of the
bark
As suffused and cool as the white of the satin
nightdress
She bends and straightens up in, pouring tea,
Sitting across from where he dandles a sandal
On his big time-keeping foot, as bare as an abbot’s.
Red brick and slate, plum tree and apple retain
Their credibility, a CD of Bach is making the rounds
Of the common or garden air. Above them a jet trail
Tapers and waves like a willow wand or a taper.
‘If art teaches us anything,’ he says, trumping life
With a quote, ‘it’s that the human condition is private.’
The Birch Grove is from District and Circle by Seamus Heaney (Faber and Faber, 2006) Links to this post
