Poem 239 – Returning to Epping Forest

Apr 17, 2024 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

We find a rare side street with no restrictions
and park upon the pavement, leaving room
for pedestrians and vehicles to pass.
The tarmac’s tense beneath our feet, uptight,
and rigid with the rigours of modern life –
on view, it knows no peace and must perform.
Stepping through the curtain of a hedge
we fall into another realm, a relic
of ancient landscapes, lost and long forgotten.
No tarmac here beneath our feet, instead
bracken unfurls it’s fingers, reaches from
the softness of this springy earth to wave
its fronds towards the canopy above.
Beneath these trees we find a foreign ease –
or rediscover rest our strivings have displaced.
No regimented conifers in rows,
instead the gently scattered beech and birch
doze idly dreaming by the oak and hornbeam.
The wood is still. No breeze or foreign sound
intrudes upon its peaceful contemplation.
Only the conversation of the birds
above accompanies us. Here we are dumbed
as time unwinds, slows down and stops awhile,
a moment that transports us to the ancient
forest that straddled this fair land. If only
we could stay and stay our hands of old.

Last weekend we visited Epping Forest, somewhere I haven’t walked in since I was a child. Although the sun was out and it was unseasonably warm and bright, underfoot was boggy. The air was humid and still and our conversation was stilled.
(17.04.24)

Poem 238 – This Sea of Voices

Apr 6, 2024 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

Their conductor enters, knowingly grins,
then turns and lifts his hands. They rise
a swelling wave, bass to soprano.
This tide is made of many voices
eddies, waves and tributaries
that make a single sonic surge.
Seal-like, a young woman sits
beached upon a chair, her smile
bubbles forth contagiously;
laboured on the land, she finds
her freedom once submerged.
A moustache adorning tenor of
germanic tendencies (surely one
of Einstein’s heirs!) leans on a stick
supported by an office worker
(grey, bespectacled), who as the waters
break across the stage becomes
reborn, his face quickened, alive.
Straight gentleman (stiff upper lip,
bow-tied and greying, manicured beard),
sings by an unexpected companion;
a retired rocker reliving Lennon
(round specs, white hair and rhythmic pose).
You sense he isn’t really here
but there, a 60’s Peter Pan
lost in the coastal pools of youth.
A frail bewildered ghost, unsure,
is led, then settles in the song,
her anchor amidst the fog of age.
Another woman stands serene,
a silver moon reflected in the
ripples, singing a sirens song.
Unified, this sea of voices
crashes upon our sands as one
then dissipates to our shingle’s applause
left ringing in response.

Today’s poem was inspired by a show I recently attended featuring a variety of choirs. I was struck by how the disparate collection of characters they were formed from could make such a rousing, living sound.
(06.04.24)

Poem 237 – i am

Mar 21, 2024 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

my neurons’ pulsing electro beat
the rhythm of hormonal flow
my parents genes and nurture’s feat
the past drags me along in tow

i’m born my culture’s bastard child
a pinch of this, a dash of that
in tension with each other held
the product of a life compact

my jobs, my pets and what i ate
the microbes that within me grow
my prejudices obstinate
the lingering trace of where i go

i find within a tug of war
between these different identities
to separate them is to tear
it’s never i, it’s always we
it takes the world to raise a child
and this child is never truly free
from each and every one compiled
but no regrets, they made me me

For all sorts of reasons, I’ve found myself thinking a lot about identity, the sense of being distinct but influenced by so many factors. Sheldrake’s ‘Entangled Life’ raises the question of whether or not we are more network than individual. Provocative.
(21.03.24)

Poem 236 – Entangled

Mar 12, 2024 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

What is this alien brain/no brain
that weaves its weft and warp, pervades
the world? A web of teasing fingers
that, tangled, threads through soil and roots.
It rules without our recognition
hidden beneath/within/without
blurring boundaries, one yet other.
Silently it speaks and calls
in foreign words, articulates
beyond our comprehension; this
mycelial ‘deity’ in whom
‘we live and breathe and have our being’.

I’m finally reading Merlin Sheldrake’s ‘Entangled Life’, an exploration of the world of fungi that I referred to in ‘Poem 77 – WWW‘. What a glorious enigma they are, I had no idea of the extent to which life is pervaded by and dependent on them.
(12.03.24)

Poem 235 – Reboot

Mar 9, 2024 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

I tried another way
But found it didn’t stick
So starting from today
I have abandoned it.

I must regain the habit
Of writing every day
Because life becomes drab if
All work, no rest or play

I’ve changed the way I’ve been working recently, embracing the wonder of Obsidian md to organise and link together my work and ideas. I thought it would be great to write my poems there as well, but somehow this simply led to me stopping writing. I’ve now reverted to scribbling them in Google Keep, which makes it easier to write in odd moments and on my phone.
(09.03.24)

Poem 233 – Island Life

Jan 31, 2024Feb 9, 2024 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

We sit in studied
isolation,
our eyes averted.
The burnt, warm air
smashes against us.
An oscillating thrum
assaults our
auditory cliffs.
No man an island?
Upon the Tube
we’re an archipelago!

On Monday I talked about John Donne’s famous ‘no man is an island’ quote in a school assembly on Genesis 1 and the interconnectedness of life. This resonated with the Abdul Salam talk I attended at Imperial that evening and his love of the underlying symmetry in physics. Travelling on the Tube, however, seemed to clash with this concept…
(31.01.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Original photo Photo by Austin Neill on Unsplash

Poem 232 – Winter Morning’s Ride

Jan 18, 2024Jan 18, 2024 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

It’s dark, and as I mount my saddle to
ride out, my limbs are stiff and unresponsive.
The dawning sun perches upon the valley
hill-line and casts its weary eye abroad.
Below it, ripples catch alight and burn
in contrast to their frost-drained surroundings.
The cold inveigles itself uninvited,
kicks off its shoes, and squats amongst my bones.
My muscles clench like bailiffs, but they fail
in their eviction efforts. It persists.
As fingers burn there is no choice but to
stoically press on in imitation.
At home, the heat violently awakes me.

It has been a bitterly cold week, in which I have been out a number of times on my bike. Although the surroundings are beautiful, it hurts.
(18.01.24)

Poem 231 – Opening Act

Jan 10, 2024 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

Serial splashes mark dog walkers passing.
One whooping swan flies overhead alone;
its powerful wings, outstretched and proud,
propel with purpose. I wonder at its passing.
The weary winter sun ascends reluctant
from its cloudy bed, as do commuters,
cocooned within their padded hats and coats.
The lake sits, an empty stage awaiting the
entry of its residents, as does the day,
whose curtains open up before me.

This was written after accompanying my son on his morning ride to catch the commuter train to work.
(09.01.24)

Poem 230 – The Writer’s Dance

Jan 9, 2024 / BenDQ / Leave a comment

I like the feel of pen on paper,
the tactile bond that forms between
the brain and movement, thought and fingers,
as words are traced upon the sheet.
This physical description is
the only form of dance in which
I can partake because the rhythm
is not determined by my feet.

I treated myself to the luxury of a reMarkable tablet this Christmas, to try and combine the tactile thinking of physical writing and the convenience of computing. This was my opening trial run with it.
(08.01.24)

Ode for the Day

An experiment in poetic doodling