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29th March, 2024

Friday Poem – ‘Water’ by Hilary Llewellyn-Williams

A mountain landscape beneath a cloudy sky

This week’s Friday Poem is ‘Water from Spring in Saskatchewan’ by Hilary Llewellyn-Williams which features in The Little Hours: New and Selected Poems.

from Spring in Saskatchewan
for Jeanne-Marie de Moissac, and others
Water
Here they’re called sloughs, pronounced slews:
springfed pools in the vast dry dome of the prairie.
Water that stands alone, watching the sky,
that makes a print of the sky; a film
moving over its lens, with clouds
blowing out and upward, miles deep.
The earth opens, revealing the stratosphere,
the wind, the thinning air. Your face a shadow
featureless, as you lean against the light
to look in. we are blanked out by height
and depth and distance, silhouettes, little dancing sticks
on the broad flank of the world. The slough’s
view: eyeless heads and peeled limbs,
a brief disturbance of vision. The white blur
of ice is gone, snow blindness. This is spring:
reed-tips prickle its skin. Its feathers ruffle.
Ducks settle over its heart. Its water-body
contains the whole sky. Out here at dusk
you can watch darkness seep along the land,
spread over the sky like paint; you can feel
the tilt of the earth, the roll away from the sun.
a great beast turning over. The sloughs its eyes.
This one, teeming with frogs, a cacophony
of sex and ecstasy, full moon frog rave.
The grit road a pale smear, rubbed out
by coming footsteps of night. Winter is over.
The land breathes, water sees, birds meet
and couple, frogs party, sky soars, the horizon uncurls.
Soon green will spike the dun stalks. Crocus glances blue
through sagebrush. Sweetgrass. This is the eye of the world.