Poem: The Summer Farm by Norman MacCaig

121

 

Summer Farm

 

Norman MacCaig

 

 

Straws like tame lightnings lie about the grass

And hang zigzag on hedges. Green as glass

The water in the horse-trough shines.

Nine ducks go wobbling by in two straight lines.

 

A hen stares at nothing with one eye,

then picks it up. Out of an empty sky

A swallow falls and, flickering through

The barn, dives up again into the dizzy blue.

 

I lie, not thinking, in the cool, soft grass,

Afraid of where a thought might take me – as

This grasshopper with plated face

Unfolds his legs and finds himself in space.

 

Self under self, a pile of selves I stand

Threaded on time, and with metaphysic hand

Lift the farm like a lid and see

Farm within farm, and in the centre, me.

 

Plated] ie as if comprising sections of a metal plate

Metaphysic] concerned with the nature of abstract or transcendent truth

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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