Seems like Iceland. I like this Colin.
bw
James
>From: "Dewar Colin [FVPC]" <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: newsub(Islands)
>Date: Fri, 13 Dec 2002 12:10:07 -0000
>
>From This Island
>
>
>From this island the shale-grey sea
>is the same sea that appears
>
>from that island over there:
>whale-black by shade of cloud
>
>or by evening light a bar of gold
>level on windless water.
>
>It is the same sea I gaze upon here
>with my knees in a swamp of sphagnum
>
>where the bog slumps down.
>Sulphuric bubbles make space for my feet
>
>till they bump stone like the bones of a rotten beast.
>On this island arctic air
>
>cramps my hands as they rest
>rheumatic on sodden wood.
>
>Clegs strike and assail my bare shoulder.
>Rooted like a wind-bent tree I stare
>
>at reflections on the altering water:
>the volcanic vent of the sun
>
>under ice-cap moon in salty blue.
>On this island bracken scratches my thighs as I move on.
>
>I come through forest where spruce prickles
>and drips dampen cloth.
>
>The rain falls like freezing glass.
>I walk till I come to the cliff and can go no further,
>
>marooned on this island.
>The face I bear to the slanting light
>
>is a different face
>from the seal's face that stares back with calm black eyes
>
>from its weight-bearing home.
>This island is not the same as that island over there
>
>where the slim pharos flares and gulls
>line the through-draft on their island,
>
>nor the same where stags roar over the sound
>from their shore of sand,
>
>who by night dine on globe flowers and the leaves of tangy sorrel.
>This island is not the same
>
>as that island
>where I would dwell if I could
>
>to gaze on the sea
>as it shifts from shale to jade green;
>
>the same sea
>that finds its way thus far inland
>
>and surrounds with its inlets,
>fingering their way into awareness
>
>and invading my darkest dreams with silver light,
>taunting with warmth drained from the sun
>
>that I cannot meet with my skin nor teeth bite.
>This island has its own history and cannot be other than it is.
>
>Its berries are bitter
>even as I encounter
>
>on looking out
>an intractable delight.
>
>______________________________________
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