A Fallow Year at Worthy Farm
No Glastonbury Festival occurs
at Worthy Farm in twenty twenty-six.
the land, where banished wildlife once more stirs
can testify to Nature’s magic fix.
No chemicals from leaky porta-loos
will seep into the grassed and flowery leas;
and cows—usurped by punters swigging booze
or smoking weed—will taste an unspoiled breeze.
No headlining cacophony to set
the eardrums thrumming, nor that resonates
through music fans enslaved by sudden debt
from tickets purchased at dynamic rates.
No litter-laden, muddy, tented sea
this year will mar the British countryside.
Instead, the moo of cow, the buzz of bee
and sigh of wind through branches will abide.
Editor’s Note: The Glastonbury Festival is the largest open field music festival in the world. Every fifth year the festival is not held to give locals and the land a break.
Paul A. Freeman is the author of Rumours of Ophir, a crime novel which was taught in Zimbabwean high schools and has been translated into German. In addition to having two novels, a children’s book and an 18,000-word narrative poem (Robin Hood and Friar Tuck: Zombie Killers!) commercially published, Paul is the author of hundreds of published short stories, poems and articles.
Thank you, Paul, for this humorous but also poignant poetic reflection. I feel your language, juxtaposing mundane and vulgar references to human activity and pretty references to the natural world, effectively evokes the intrusion into the rural setting. It reminds me of Betjeman. Best wishes, Bruce
Thank you, Bruce. The Glastonbury Festival of yesteryear was a far more impromptu and ‘basic’ event than today. These days it has almost become respectable.
Very interesting poem, Paul. I think Bruce’s comments nailed it. I did some further research, and was a bit surprised to learn that the festival, though impressively massive, only lasts for five days. But imagine a Woodstock four years out of every five! Definitely understand the desire and need for the fallow year.
Thanks for reading and commenting, Russel. I was surprised to discover the festival missed the occasional year, though it’squite logical when you think about it.
Paul, Your leaky loos, like the leaching septic system under my lawn, may well make the grass a tad bit greener. And in the off-year the cow poop may well serve a similar purpose. Personally, my vote is for the cows. Good humor with a point. And kudos for finding inspiration from something that doesn’t happen; a non-event; an absence. A pastorale with a twist.
My grandmother used to live in this part of England and it was always a bit depressing to see King Arthur Country so despoiled during and after the event. Now, though, it’s a mainstream event, yet even so, the cleaning up needed is somewhat phenomenal.
For sure, Paul, I applaud your applause for “Nature’s magic fix.” Your poem is funny and easy-going, but I think you take a dim view, as I do, of crowds, mud, and raucous noise. Entertainment is one thing, and serene contemplation is another. Give me those idyllic fields with the soft sound of the breeze. I’m glad there will be “No litter-laden, muddy, tented sea” (nice phrase, that!) this year, but the prospect of the next four years doesn’t cheer me. In any case, you give me cause to smile with your light (I might say “breezy”) and meaningful verses. Thanks for the contrasting pictures. A good job once again!
Thanks, Bhikkhu Nyanasobhano, for reading and commenting. As I mentioned above the rural Glastonbury area of England is where I used to roam during childhood summers, so, yes, the mud and noise of the festival does trigger a reaction.
Even in festival years, there are 360 less raucous days to contemplate all the history and mystery in and around Glastonbury. Been there a number of times, Paul, and always enjoyed the outdoors–without noticing anything Nature needed to fix. The magic must be quick! Maybe you set the spell in motion with your “no-no-no-no” stanzas.
Yeovil, Salisbury, Frome (rhyming with ‘broom’). Greeness, sunshine and sunburn are some of my enduring memories of that part of the world, as well as tired ‘townie’ legs after walking 30 odd miles.
Glad you’ve got to appreciate Somerset, Margaret.
Enjoyed, Paul, the poem and the graphic. Seems like a perfect musical comment on the situation. I also especially noted the drive of “No litter-laden, muddy, tented sea”.
Thanks, JD.
If ears were made for hearing,
Then music is endearing,
And I would hate to see
A world musicians flee.
Very well done, and I really enjoyed this one. As an American who loves a lot of UK rock and pop music, I had often thought that the Glastonbury Festival would fun to attend. But, as someone who also grew up on a farm in the countryside, I can fully appreciate this perspective. Excellent.