Where will you find it?
The real England I mean.
Not there in those biscuit lid villages
Where camera crews are seen
And pagan barns converted
Fringe the village green.
Perhaps beside the motorway
Where HGV’s make thunder
And weary children in
Trembling bunk beds wonder
If they’ll ever sleep again.
In the statuary of history
Or forgotten soldiers’ feet
In books by Agatha Christie
Or that multicultural beat
Amidst these rumpled hills
Or sunlight on The Shard
In the shadows of old mills
Or the wisdom of The Bard.
Perhaps beside a river bend
Where an angler waits all day
As mallards in the shallows
Watch tiny ducklings play
Regardless of danger.
Where will you find it?
The real England I mean.
Not here where keyboard keys
Strive to process what has been -
This place of hope and memory
The kingdom of a queen.
Amidst these rumpled hills
Or sunlight on The Shard
In the shadows of old mills
Or the wisdom of The Bard.
Perhaps beside a river bend
Where an angler waits all day
As mallards in the shallows
Watch tiny ducklings play
Regardless of danger.
Where will you find it?
The real England I mean.
Not here where keyboard keys
Strive to process what has been -
This place of hope and memory
The kingdom of a queen.
That's really nice and the real England, like everywhere really, is a combination. If about 17 years of blogging and interacting with other bloggers, you just can't pinpoint people or countries.
ReplyDeleteElusive - that's the word Andrew. Thanks for reading the poem and thinking about it too.
DeleteOooh. I like that YP. Full marks.
ReplyDeleteThanks for reading it. I know you would not dish out positive comments just to make someone feel good.
DeleteAre you the real Yorkshire?
ReplyDeleteOnly the real Yorkshire Pudding. Accept no substitutes.
DeleteThe real England, of course, is the sentiments locked deep in the heart of its inhabitants as they watch their country change. Sometimes they write about it, luckily.
ReplyDeleteThanks for reading it and for reflecting thoughtfully upon it Debby. Appreciated.
DeleteI guess England is the sum of all its parts but some parts are more Real English than others!
ReplyDeleteThanks for reading it Sue. What lies below the surface?
DeleteYour poem is reminiscent of my favourite quote...."This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands,--This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.”
ReplyDeleteGreat stuff YP.
From Richard II I believe. Of course we can never pin down "the real England". Thanks for reading the poem JayCee. I am grateful.
DeleteI think it's possible that there is no one "real" England anymore than there is one real United States or real Mexico or real Canada. There's certainly no real Florida as the reality of Disney World is as blatant and true as the reality of the rivers and swamps, beaches and jungles, Miami Beach and springs where real mermaids swim.
ReplyDeleteYou are, of course, right. How come your mermaids look like manatees?
DeleteI like the verse about the river and the Angler and the wild ducks.
ReplyDeleteMallards seem to get everywhere. I think there are more mallards than people in this green land.
DeleteExcellent. Representative of the regional and cultural diversity in this country I have adopted as home. (Or that has adopted me, maybe.) I especially like the props for Agatha Christie. :)
ReplyDeleteGlad you enjoyed this poem Steve. Many thanks for even reading it.
DeleteRather good - I tip my hat as they say... Simon Armitage wrote an excellent memoir called All Points North. I always think of the North as true England gritty and real.
ReplyDeleteSo do I. Here you will find the bones of the land. To me London seems like a powdered Regency wig with make-up and bangles.
DeleteExcellent! What is "real?" How do we recognize it?
ReplyDeleteI guess we create our own realities Margaret.
DeleteThis is a lovely poem. I especially like the whole concept of it. These days it is all too easy to lose track of the heart and soul of our homelands. We should all search for and protect that where ever we may live.
ReplyDeleteThanks for reading it Bonnie - and for leaving a splendid reflection.
DeleteExcellent poem YP.
ReplyDeleteSo glad it meets with your approval CG for I know that you are an honest judge.
DeleteI don't usually understand poetry but I like this. And as someone else said, the real England is all of it and it's everchanging as it always has been.
ReplyDeleteIn spite of your slight antipathy towards poetry I am so glad that this poem meant something to you Lily. Thanks for reading it.
DeleteDig an archaeological trench and ponder on the slices of the levels that are coloured before you. You caught the moment just right in the poem it is like trying to capture an elusive ghostly history which change every time you prod it.
ReplyDeleteI have never been on an archaeological dig. I think I would love it though I do not like kneeling down these days. Thanks for reading and considering the poem Thelma.
Delete