Remaining Visible


“It is remarkable how easily and insensibly we fall into a particular route, and make a beaten track for ourselves. I had not lived there a week before my feet wore a path from my door to the pond-side; and though it is five or six years since I trod it, it is still quite distinct. It is true, I fear that others may have fallen into it, and so helped to keep it open. The surface of the earth is soft and impressible by the feet of men; and so with the paths that the mind travels.”

Henri David Thoreau, explaining why he left his cabin by Walden Pond in September 1847


????????????????????????????????????????????It was upon a July evening.
At a stile I stood, looking along a path
Over the country by a second Spring
Drenched perfect green again. ‘The lattermath
Will be a fine one.’ So the stranger said,
A wandering man. Albeit I stood at rest,
Flushed with desire I was. The earth outspread,
Like meadows of the future, I possessed.

And as an unaccomplished prophecy
The stranger’s words, after the interval
Of a score years, when those fields are by me
Never to be recrossed, now I recall,
This July eve, and question, wondering,
What of the lattermath to this hoar Spring? 

Edward Thomas, ‘It Was Upon’

Things will happen which will trample and pierce, but I shall go on, something that is here and there like the wind, something unconquerable, something not to be separated from the dark earth and the light sky, a strong citizen of infinity and eternity. 

Edward Thomas The Stile ???????????



I am a son of Earth and starry sky. I am parched with thirst and am dying; but quickly grant me cold water from the Lake of Memory to drink

The Unappeasable Host

The Danaan children laugh, in cradles of wrought gold,
And clap their hands together, and half close their eyes,
For they will ride the North when the ger-eagle flies,
With heavy whitening wings, and a heart fallen cold:
I kiss my wailing child and press it to my breast,
And hear the narrow graves calling my child and me.
Desolate winds that cry over the wandering sea;
Desolate winds that hover in the flaming West;
Desolate winds that beat the doors of Heaven, and beat
The doors of Hell and blow there many a whimpering ghost;
O heart the winds have shaken, the unappeasable host
Is comelier than candles at Mother Mary’s feet

The Hosting Of The Sidhe

The host is riding from Knocknarea
And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare;
Caoilte tossing his burning hair,
And Niamh calling Away, come away:
Empty your heart of its mortal dream.
The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round,
Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound,
Our breasts are heaving our eyes are agleam,
Our arms are waving our lips are apart;
And if any gaze on our rushing band,
We come between him and the deed of his hand,
We come between him and the hope of his heart.
The host is rushing ‘twixt night and day,
And where is there hope or deed as fair?
Caoilte tossing his burning hair,
And Niamh calling Away, come away.

Many times man lives and dies
Between his two eternities,
That of race and that of soul,
And ancient Ireland knew it all.
Whether man die in his bed
Or the rifle knocks him dead,
A brief parting from those dear
Is the worst man has to fear.
Though grave-diggers’ toil is long,
Sharp their spades, their muscles strong.
They but thrust their buried men
Back in the human mind again.

Under Ben Bulben WB Yeats

The words of a dead man
Are modified in the guts of the living.

In Memory of WB Yeats  W H Auden

Edward Carpenter

To descend first; to feel downwards… for the solid ground – to come close to the Earth itself and those that live in direct contact with it.   To identify, to saturate yourself with these, their laws of being, their modes of life, their needs (the Earth’s also) thoughts, temptations and aspirations.  This is the first thing – to dig downwards.

Edward Carpenter. Millthorpe, Chesterfield. 1885

Photograph:A portrait of Edward Carpenter by R.E. Fry is in the National Portrait Gallery, London, England.

A portrait of Edward Carpenter by R.E. Fry is in the National Portrait Gallery, London, England.  Courtesy of the National Portrait Gallery, London

“The Earthwork” Stainsby

‘The village known as Steinesbei in the Domesday Survey was surrounded to the north by a semi-circular moat with banks and ramparts, approximately eight feet in depth.

Some of this still remains visible.

This is known as

“The Earthwork”