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Richard Stewart

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At Benacre

This land, chewed, bitten and gouged out,
Soon yields to the ravenous maw of the sea
And beyond both, untouchable, fickle
And free, the clear light dominates.

Here Turner would have willingly
Lashed himself to any storm-bound sail
And I have seen sea battles between
Snow scuds of lowering clouds
And spangled rays of golden light,
Contesting a dim, uncertain horizon
And after, across the brackish Broad,
Water stippled with blue, pink and gold.

The men with the clipboards came,
Examined the huddle of houses, the old
And forlorn church, behind crumbling cliffs,
Then announced a programme of passive
Sea defence, which means no defence at ail.

Let the sea dictate, let the lovely
Luminous law of light dictate.
Let it be left to the patient fishermen.
Let it be left to the quiet walkers.
Let it be left to poets and their dreams.

 

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