Avebury
Among the timeless stones what takes the eye Is a girl on a bicycle - Pink blouse, and black skirt riding up her thigh - Pedalling fast As if in danger in this place, Through time a-race.
The church clock strikes above the chanting choir At practice, and the doves inside their cote Cru-cr000-cru, cru-cr000-cru, cru-croon-cru, Then lower — Ooo, Ooo, Ooo — throat to throat.
Impossible to tell which stones, which sheep Against the downs from far — all seem to sleep, Until the little ones jostle the big To suckle and their plangent baas are heard Quavering through the stilled air of dusk, Circles dissolve, stones seem to push and shove Except the giant ones nothing will move.
Like weeping, laughing dodderers and crones Humped or crouching in the grass, the stones Scarred by cutting flints, eroded, lined, Holding hands to knobbly chins, must know More than the visitors who come and go.
As the sun sinks I mount the avenue, Each stone a foresight for a nimbus flash. My heart is heavy as the sun's red ball, For at the top is (nothing?): darkness, pall.
Some stones are coupled: male to female face, Tall-short, slim-broad — great Mammas and Papas, Their children straggle after them in lines Doing what they have been set to do, Pointing out the way the centuries through.
The living (no more living?) couples pass Between them, interweaving on the grass, Hand in hand to watch the red sun set.
These lovers have not faced each other yet.
In the pub within the ancient ring Yobs hit the jackpot on the fruit-machine, Neon lights flash, the jukebox flickering As the pale barmaid hears a goddess sing: `Taam aafter taam.'
Outside, the plaintive bleating of a lamb: The dugs are dry.
The dead sun's blood is streaming in the sky Around the spearpoints of the church's tower. The darkened stones retain their endless power.
Sean Haldane
Previous page
