The Tangled Branch Discussion Forums

There is enchantment in distant hills -
you wonder could you walk directly to them,

crossing sheep meadows, skirting yellow fields,
over gates, always keeping off the road.

Or would you lose your aim in hidden troughs,
waylaid by riverbeds along the route?

Would you recognise the hill when closer -
perhaps it wouldn’t be a hill at all?

That crown of beech on the horizon’s crest;
that oak espaliered against the sky.

Landmarks up close are seldom what you think:
the hill - a hillock, the high wood - a copse.

I recall a boyhood pilgrimage of sorts:
my father ill, I set myself the task

of walking to a spired church below
a Wealden hill to barter for his life.

It was as far as a boy could explore
on a June day and still be home for tea.

My dad survived then, though he’s long gone now
as I sit here on this April morning

looking at a hill in sunlight to see
the distance closing of its own accord.

I was thinking about doing the NaPoWriMo
thing but I’m simply not writing enough (sorry Tracy!)
Anyway here’s a draft of a new one

Marc - not be argumentative, but NaPo induces you to write.  Love your Youtube "We Will Win" - hope you don't mind I posted the link.  

 

Nice reflective one Marco. I can relate to that walk, though espaliered ambushed (probably due to the limits of my vocab).

Phil

Hi Matty
I like this nostalgic and thoughtful poem. The Distant Hills' theme is a deep metaphor which you use with great skill.
The weakest lines for me are the questioning ones. The lines themselves are very good. If they were mine I would find ways to make them more personal statements and observations. Just my thoughts.
A lovely read nevertheless.

I enjoyed this poem too and I think Eric makes an excellent comment concerning the questions, though the ideas contained therein are pertinent and interesting as anyone knows who has headed towards a distant hill or peak.
Dave
 

Hi Marc,

Nice reflective piece. I like the idea behind it, and I thought you executed it well, though maybe a bit too long overall (it dragged very slightly for me).

Some specifics below.

Al the best,

Trev


There is enchantment in distant hills -
you wonder could you walk directly to them,

crossing sheep meadows, skirting yellow fields,
over gates, always keeping off the road.

Or would you lose your aim in hidden troughs,
waylaid by riverbeds along the route?

Would you recognise the hill when closer -
perhaps it wouldn’t be a hill at all?

That crown of beech on the horizon’s crest;
that oak espaliered against the sky. [Not crazy about espaliered - probably because don't know what it means ]

Landmarks up close are seldom what you think:
the hill - a hillock, the high wood - a copse. [Delete verse. Previous verse does the same job better]

I recall a boyhood pilgrimage of sorts: [Nice shift here]
my father ill, I set myself the task

of walking to a spired church below
a Wealden hill to barter for his life.

It was as far as a boy could explore
on a June day and still be home for tea. [Great way of putting this]

My dad survived then, though he’s long gone now [delete "then"?]
as I sit here on this April morning

looking at a hill in sunlight to see
the distance closing of its own accord. [Nice ending]