Latitude and Loss
One spring morning they announced themselves
at last: a faintly murmured intercourse
emerging surely from the shoring waves
like ancient spells incanted in Old Norse.
And there they came, low-beating over crests
intently on beneath the broken cloud,
a skein of purpose following the coast,
straining northward, urgent, calling loud
with high excited clamour in full flight.
Strong wingsweeps passing sighed of Arctic wind,
then faded into silence beyond sight,
leaving only emptier sky behind.
Innately charted constellations guide
their impulse to a reacquainted strand,
where old unfrozen birthrights recognised
anew are nurtured in a nightless land
of cloudberry, moss and watery wilderness.
Wanderers brooding on the edge of earth
sense instincts pulsing in each downy nest,
around them all the backcloth of rebirth –
seas where narwhal surge, bog where bears
roam like famished snow—and, sweetly harsh,
wild voices on the quaking tundral air,
whose echo haunts an empty Essex marsh.
Martin Briggs lives in Suffolk, England. He only began writing in earnest after retiring from a career in public administration, since when he has been published in various publications on both sides of the Atlantic.
This is an erudite expression of international bird migration with sensory images of their pilgrimages. The birds are seen to sally forth as they continue to the north. Their flight from England must seem harsh, since their echo haunts an Essex marsh. Well-constructed are the words as we follow this flight of birds.
Though it’s not a masterpiece – just a picture of some geese on their seasonal migration – thanks for your appreciation.
This is exquisite in its rhythm and imagery. I particularly loved ‘famished snow’
Martin, what is famished snow?
My guess is that it means snow that is metaphorically “hungry,” and that bites intensely with its cold. There’s an Iranian poet who writes of the hungry snow “biting the mountains” — i.e. making things unpleasant and uncomfortable.
Precisely. But a legitimate question. Famished snow is hungry and predatory, like the white bear which it symbolises. The image might be obscure at first sight, but greater writers than I have noticed that fog prowls, cloud smothers, heat chokes, and so on. Sorry if it doesn’t work.
It works perfectly, just like Eliot’s image of the yellow smoke moving and curling like a cat, in one of his famous poems.
Thank you, Martin.
This is a truly beautiful poem! All the imagery is wonderfully and thoughtfully rendered—a real gem! One thing I particularly enjoyed was your occasional use of partial rhyme, as for example in lines 1 and 3 (“themselves…waves”). First, there is real beauty in that rhyme. And second, I’ve felt for a while that partial rhyme (slant-rhyme, half-rhyme, etc.) is a great underused technique in English poetry—not only does it help mitigate how desperately rhyme-poor the language is, but it can also conjure up a softer, more delicate music. Phenomenal work!
Thank you, Josh. I’m grateful for your thoughts.
I agree with Josh; I like many slant rhymes for their interesting musicality. There are many beautiful things about this poem, Martin. Among them: your description of the sound the birds make as “like ancient spells incanted in Old Norse” (brilliant comparison!); “a skein of purpose following the coast” (so visual!)
Thank you Cynthia. I agree with you – and Josh: I’m a great believer in slant/imperfect rhymes. When appropriate, they allow you some flexibility without overstepping the bounds of formality. And yes, they can enhance the musicality of a piece.
I’ve never read or heard the word “tundral” before but I love it for its sound. I’m wondering also if the words “crest” and especially “brooding” are pulling a little double duty here.
Thanks for these perceptive comments, Levi. I thought I’d invented “tundral”, but was disappointed to discover that it actually exists….
So much fine imagery, Martin. Three of my faves – ‘ancient spells incanted in Old Norse / a skein of purpose / Wanderers brooding on the edge of earth’.
Re, ‘tundral’, I was writing a poem about butterflies a couple of months back and from the noun ‘lepidoptera’ there were three adjectives – lepidopterous, lepidopteral and lepidopteran. Spoiled for choice, I went for the latter.
Thanks for you wonderful, evocative poem.
Thanks Paul. As far as butterfly lore is concerned, I think it’s hard to beat the Danish “sommerfugl”, or “summer bird”.
And while we’re talking about the forces of nature, here’s a fine poem on the subject–atmospheric, wild, looking to history, with a rich evocation of “a nightless land.” An example of what nature and a poet can do together. I enjoyed it.
Thanks for your appreciation. I think we’re on the same page.
Martin, the poem is a masterpiece of descriptive suggestion. You never say it is about birds or geese or migration, but provide an avalanche of words and images that, taken together, reveal the subject. The departure point is identified in the final words as an “empty Essex marsh,” and while you do mention “north,” you wouldn’t need to. That is, if we know where cloudberries grow and narwhal congregate. A nice puzzle that makes your reader feel like a successful investigator.
As for “famished” snow, it may technically be a misplaced modifier–using a technique allowed in verse. Considering what I’ve said about the poem overall, I’d be surprised if you did NOT use misplacement!
Thank you Margaret. I did deliberately omit specific information: to introduce factual detail would have reduced the piece to mere reportage. I’m glad you approve.