One of the functions of landscape it to correspond to, nurture, and provoke exploration of the landscape of the imagination. Space to walk is also space to think, and I think that's one thing landscapes give us: places to think longer, more uninterrupted thoughts or thoughts to a rhythm other than the staccato of navigating the city.
Rebecca Solnit
 Polar Bears on the Move, Kim Hunter
Topographical poetry is a wonderful way to armchair travel. No mosquitos, sand storms or malaria, well at least not off the written page. Landscape poems are filled with imagery and saturate the senses. We are inundated with language and become immersed in a culture. Sometimes the trip is pleasant, scenic. Sometimes the trip is a voyage into a dismal and emotional territory that deserves recognition and respect. There may be historic relevance and footnotes are not uncommon in this form of poetry.
I was delighted to find two new poets to Soup who wrote landscape poems. Their lines will guide you to distant – or perhaps not so distant- countries. I hope you enjoy the trip as much as I did. AWESOME STUFF!
The landscape of an African Soul - Tuli Circle
By Tim Marks
As dawn peers over the edge of the sky,
In a space of the lonely kopjes and cacti.
Where God roamed to the edge of a scorched wilderness,
and stared into the vast land of nothingness.
HERE, STANDS A PLACE ARID AND BONE DRY
WHERE ROOT AND SHOOT SHRIVEL AND DIE.
HERE IS WHERE HE FORMED ROCKY OUTCROPS AND SANDY STRANDS
TULI IS IT’S NAME.
IN THIS FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE, WHERE WIND ROLES A GUST
FORMATION OF BOULDERS, PEBBLES, AND DUST.
The springs of vitality forced from the ground below
Sweet honey dew, taste of life, transforms this dusty bowl
Where quenched thirsts were satisfied,
Hunger for food became starvation and slowly crippled the dreary
Only the toughest would survive, no room for the weary
As time pasted, it forgot this flat open bush
where grass and shrub became razor sharp and prickly scrub.
harsh and foreboding.
The Shashe river snaking through the sandy ground
with dust and rubble on the fortress mound
So men came to conquer and forge his own path,
What madness is this, why was he so daft.
But, when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object
History is written.
Wheels of progress move steadily forward
Rocks being used to build roads, bridges, houses, and prisons
So hard, tough, and cold these objects are to house the idea of future dreams and missions.
The stubborn will to settle,
made peoples focus rock solid.
But as time marches out and onward,
the memories and sentiments pasted through like a gentle breeze.
All that is left is the forgotten memories, graves, and relics of buildings old,
Hunters, Riders, and Voortrekkers cry out from the dust and sand,
that fortress of Pioneers, Tuli.
England, My Country
By Dennis Curry
The rolling hills so green and tender
Mountains on high I will always remember
Colours of the seasons so fresh in my mind
All of the beauty so easy to find
This is England, the country I live
The country i would die for, the country I love
The fields the forest the mountain stream
The hills the dales the lakes agleam
Scent of summer so strong on the breeze
My land of beauty that’s so hard to leave
This is England the country I adore
Home of truth, faith, hope much more
And if the time comes then leave it I shall
To a foreign country an unknown land
Where the thoughts of England will always remain
In God’s own country, God’s domain
So, what's old, new, borrowed, blue? Are you in knots, tying a knot, untangling knots, knot-ty, knot-up-to-it, knot-yourself? :) Share, please, as always keep things friendly in this one blog. Hugs to EVERYONE xox Cyndi
PS-- I thought I'd mention that the above artwork, a tempera and ink painting, was stolen from the artist, Kim Hunter. Her work is incredible and culturally significant.  To see more of her work...http://kimhunter.ca/landscape_paintings.htm
|