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letra de you brave old land - penny rimbaud & youth

you brave old land that stands so firm
you fortress against time
you rocks and stone so long before me
you green ivy so metallic in your grip
you mighty oak, mightier still in the root
that there we are entire

you brave old land
your service to industry which also destroys you
you copper and iron, the smelt and the casting
the transference
and in valleys lost beneath woodland
chimneys haunt the moment
where once hunting knives were crafted
yet still remind of clogged feet and a calling
but you, the mountains, hold firm in your spell
while the winds embrace you to renew you
tufted grass and gorse, hawth-rn and ash
are sculpted to better represent you
the blanket rain cloud drifts in to wrap you
to feed the streams by which i too am fed
always the cleansing

you brave old land
your support of mankind which also destroys you
yet for all the enclosure
the wooden fence and the dry-stone wall
each a beauty unto itself
still you breathe and sing your song
and soothe with your poetics
deep in the fibre of me
and you, you primrose and daffodil
pale sunlight before the warmth has returned
to comfort muscle and soften wintry limbs
that nod in confirmation
as keened winds carry last frosts
to the perpetual shadow of impregnable crags

and you, you bigger hills
devoured by heavy skies
your elephant backs arched
against the chilling weightlessness
that i too might ascend to those profane heavens

you silver seas and sudden showers
you silent lakes, red soils and bracken banks
i too grow alongside you
to break the ice, to dive into still waters
to thrust my hands into fertile loams
or to lay myself upon you in sweet dreams of forgetting

the glacial cut, the tumbled moraine
the grand sweeps and sudden falls which reflect my anguish

oh, you brave old land
where you stand still
i can always return
to confirm a permanence
where otherwise there is none
the shadow which is patchwork ethereal
the fields which are patchwork sustained
the water currents, whirlpools and eddies
psychic nerve ends
the brackish tarn
black as oil that has found its break
or the quicksilver of the tumbling brook

this the joke of landscape
the gull upon the plough furrow, mimicking oceans
the raven fierce against the coming storm
a tattered black rag screeching abbreviation
the surfaces bending and breaking
the b-ttress, gulley and chock-stone
the snug valleys, the estuaries, the salt flats
and then the ditches cut so straight
through this, the embroidery complete

you northerlies which hew with ice
you southerlies which brand with fire
you westerlies which round with water
you tricky easterlies which shake the jester’s bells
and change face soon as wear it

and then of human order, a colder heart
the crafted marble and limestone and granite
the markers and tombstones
that we too might remain in this way
that we might become the graven form of immortality
but we have only our passion
to stand resolute yet temporary as any hillside cairn
where no moss will grow
nor be gathered in the fall
passion, passion, that alone
that is all

oh, you teams of sporting men
heraldic in your pageant
your red and gold and blue
you run in packs
and while you run, you laugh
knowing but for the flying leather
and the clinging mud
that everything is as nothing
and in that, is there not also sorrow?

and as i leave these hills
i feel my soul touched with a yearning
for they so engage me
so enfold me
and if i should sing their song
might i not know better
or at least be better created?

of course she cried in flood and tears
of course she cried in blood and cares
but, surely, was i not torn away
born away through her from the solace of eternity?
the immortal thrall broken in the moment of birth

then perhaps there is no return
and in that red and gold and blue
i might come to pursue
more material a dream
smug in its youth
which, rather than the touch of the divine
chooses the shiny b-tton of touch
so confident that there need be no reaching
for always there is time
which might encase breast, soft, sublime
yet temporal and so be untouched
or lips, which although engorged by memory
do but tittle-tattle to confirm the paucity

oh you, you who hold the rose to its moment of beauty
who celebrates its crimson joy
yet denies it its fall
this dark secret love you doth destroy
is nothing changed? is that the all?
then know this
love is greater than yourself
it is in every moment before and after your conceits
it cannot grow, for it is already full grown
full size, full spectrum, indefinable
shot out beyond time contained

love is complete, or else love is obsolete

there are, of course, great rivers
some greater than others
yet all are bound to the sea
but you, you brave old land
you stand so firm, indomitable and grand
you stand so firm, indomitable and grand

- penny rimbaud youth

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