Certainly not Tolkien. How dare you, Sir?
The Tudors stopped them speaking Cornish. Few are ethnically Cornish. A
lot from Shropshire, I believe. No one really knows, it seems, what
happened. But very few Cornish names now. I have cousins called Trenear,
which is kosher; but where I go most people are called Hicks, families of
them. A bunch of Norman gangsters, sorry, nobility, moved in. Then some
other nobility. Then some others. Then enery 8th
It wasn't till Augustus Smith anyone tried to get them out of awful
poverty - I think he did it rather in the mood of Charles Foster Kane
taking over his newspaper. (When William Borlase went there and dug on
Buzza Hill in the early 1750s, it rained after the first day and they all
got very angry. He had angered the giants by digging for their gold and
the giants had made it rain to trash the vegetables... Buzza Hill is a`few
house heights high and not big enough for a game of cricket at the top.
Where were the giants? That may be a guide to where their heads were.)
Charles Thomas worked out where major land loss has occurred since 16th
century because the new features have English names. (It needs all kinds
of checks balances and constraints to make it work; but there have been
some good arguments using place names.)
They never did wreck. (If anyone did, they were very naughty) They did
take advantage of wrecks. The may have prayed for wrecks. The last time
that happened was this century. THIS century. A ship full of timber and
trainers. Many people build new sheds and was well shod. Many Islanders
died trying to save people from wrecks.
Tolkien!
L
On Fri, August 12, 2011 17:22, Patrick McManus wrote:
> Thanks L feeling of time-do they still wreck ships there?speak Cornish?
> Or
> is this Tolkien's Ennor P
>
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On
> Behalf Of Lawrence Upton
> Sent: 12 August 2011 13:06
> To: [log in to unmask]
> Subject: Landscape: Ennor
>
>
> nor would it have been all or of a sudden but sinking soft sea rise, hardly
> perceptible, till Celsius painted a white line on a rock, as a memory which
> did not metamorphosise to myth
>
> inundations were many, intrusions amongst others and those with higher land
> and lesser kinship might be unconcerned or sometimes rather pleased when
> low fields drowned not a few were lost with them, forgotten...
>
> as with the rejects of Augustus Smith...
>
> history being said by the fortunate people...
>
> and as salt accumulated in flooding fields, they were abandoned to
> weather's triage, good only for passers by and stories, name calling to
> call back abandoned space, with lame fruit the children scrumped between
> work, or to graze cattle in destitution
>
> though, still, their boundaries brought harsh dispute and drunken argument
> and boast. No one, perhaps, understood the relentless peril; while none of
> them measured their land, except across, never up and down in abstract,
> until one day the sea arrived and stayed longer than usual
>
> mild years it kept back beyond the beaches and the tumbled cliffs, raiding
> others less worthy, somewhere else, not the people but in this bad year the
> several holes it probed through island skin were too big and many to be
> repaired
>
> you don't just move a whole apple orchard
>
> such things could be survived
>
> it's said a horse was eaten
>
> and the dogs tended to bite
>
> much worse, the foreign income came no more
>
> after the surveyors and senior priests, apart from two boatfuls of those
> who like to see the disasters of other humans, there was no business
>
> there was no cash flow
>
> as with a dry well or an aging tree
>
> that generation died
>
> its children died
>
> things changed without improvement ponds grew foul grew bigger much low
land
> was wet all year
>
> a raised beach or planation surface would cross the tidemark in one
> person's life
>
> things changed immensely strangers grabbed unguarded land and built and
> preached there
>
> making change
>
> and, then, some parts of the island were, by the tide, separating islands,
> the wash deepening imperceptibly
>
> what is now is as it has never been five inhabited points in seven way
> turmoil
>
> shuddering fluttering points windblown puddles turned out inside from their
> temporary space and certain to be erased soon
>
> in histories an ocean wreaks
>
> rocking stones upon tremendous ocean
>
>
> -----
> UNFRAMED GRAPHICS by Lawrence Upton
> 42 pages; A5 paperback; colour cover
> Writers Forum 978 1 84254 277 4
> wfuk.org.uk/blog ----
> Lawrence Upton
> Dept of Music
> Goldsmiths, University of London
>
>
-----
UNFRAMED GRAPHICS by Lawrence Upton
42 pages; A5 paperback; colour cover
Writers Forum 978 1 84254 277 4
wfuk.org.uk/blog
----
Lawrence Upton
Dept of Music
Goldsmiths, University of London
|
