Ignoring the disaster of Scotland's draw with Croatia this afternoon
(WE all cheered five minutes from the end when we thought they had scored)
and England's recent demolition of Germany, and advice from the States
that Dylan's new album is not as bad as the cuts on BBC radio predict,
I have a great agony to expose. The blackberry spikes in my lower back
garden are now waving eight feet in the air and the undergrowth is
impenetrable. I tried to dig it 18 months ago and the humus was impenetrable.
I think I am going to have to spend around 1000 pounds to get the garden
cleared, and even then there is no guarantee of it not returning.
The tragedy started 25 years ago when I moved in and planted rose bushes
in the very steep bottom garden as a filler. Then I got ambitious and
planted fruit bushes. And I put in a blackberry root cos I like them.
THe blackberry took over and it was too late to dig it out. Then my
lilac tree died (I have a poem about that!) and the weeds it had been
holding back crawled all over. So three years ago I had a big patio
built to contain them. But now the convolvulus and brambles are close
to giving me a nervous breakdown as they assault my neighbours garden
and the patio. These blackberry spikes are dreadful enemies. Thank
goodness winter is coming and some respite. If I dont do something
the neighbours will be setting the Council on me. Why didnt I buy
a flat.
Here is a poem from 12 years ago before the trouble started...
Susan's garden
It is a wilderness.
I built it.
I planted three blackcurrant bushes,
A gooseberry bush and a bilberry.
I planted two giant blackberry roots.
On the ridge below it
I planted over twenty heathers,
Rich in colour and variety.
Now it is wild roses and convolvulus
Interspersed with blackberry fangs.
I planted the wild roses as a border.
They have encroached.
I never go there now.
I used to sit on the wall with Fritz Cat beside me
Looking out over Susan's garden
Down across the rooftops of Bath.
Now it is finished.
The convolvulus attacks my forsythia and lilac.
I let it climb.
These last ten years I have lost interest.
There is no dynamism in me
As when Fritz was a kitten
And I used to work till dusk in the garden.
Now it is a wilderness,
Like Coatham when I was a child.
I carry my past with me.
It will always be Susan's garden.
Douglas Clark, Bath, England mailto: [log in to unmask]
Lynx: Poetry from Bath .......... http://www.bath.ac.uk/~exxdgdc/lynx.html
|