Poem
Jen Hadfield
THRIMILCE – ISBISTER
THRIMILCE – ISBISTER
THRIMILCE – ISBISTER
The Anglo-Saxons called (May) thrimilce, becausethen cows can be milked three times a day.
- Brewer’s Phrase and Fable
Cheddared, the light sealed
in rind of dry road;
bloom and sheen of the ditches
I’ve been dreaming all this life;
the close-quilled irises
rooted dense and deep
as flight feathers.
Recognition rises
- cream in a tilted pitcher.
© 2005, Jen Hadfield
From: Almanacs
Publisher: Bloodaxe,
From: Almanacs
Publisher: Bloodaxe,
Jen Hadfield
(United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, 1978)
Nothing is permanent in the poetry of Jen Hadfield (‘I don’t know what it is / about this place that things / metaflower so readily / into their present selves’). With a meticulous, sober gaze, she watches how everything around her sprouts and grows, buds and creeps into everything else. Her poems might be about the rugged nature in northern Shetland where she lives (‘the scrambling twig / hern...
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Poems of Jen Hadfield
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THRIMILCE – ISBISTER
The Anglo-Saxons called (May) thrimilce, becausethen cows can be milked three times a day.
- Brewer’s Phrase and Fable
Cheddared, the light sealed
in rind of dry road;
bloom and sheen of the ditches
I’ve been dreaming all this life;
the close-quilled irises
rooted dense and deep
as flight feathers.
Recognition rises
- cream in a tilted pitcher.
From: Almanacs
THRIMILCE – ISBISTER
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