 'I called today, Peter, and you were away.
I look out over Botallack and over Ding Dong and Levant and over the jasper sea. Find me a thermal to speak and soar to you from Over Lanyon Quoit and the circling stones standing High on the moor over Gurnard’s Head where some Time three foxglove summers ago, you came. The days are shortening over Little Parc Owles. The poet or painter steers his life to maim Himself somehow for the job. His job is Love Imagined into words or paint...' – WS Graham, opening lines of The Thermal Stair (in memory of Peter Lanyon) I'll be heading back here through the wild winds, thinking of Sydney pretending to be a storm, roaring through the door, Nessie singing... later in February as Artist of the Month throughout March. ... 'Approaching The Gurnard's Head' felting with stitching, inspired by W.S.Graham. Sold. The whole poem...❤️ I called today, Peter, and you were away. I look out over Botallack and over Ding Dong and Levant and over the jasper sea. Find me a thermal to speak and soar to you from Over Lanyon Quoit and the circling stones standing High on the moor over Gurnard’s Head where some Time three foxglove summers ago, you came. The days are shortening over Little Parc Owles. The poet or painter steers his life to maim Himself somehow for the job. His job is Love Imagined into words or paint to make An object that will stand and will not move. Peter, I called and you were away, speaking Only through what you made and at your best. Look, there above Botallack, the buzzard riding The salt updraught slides off the broken air And out of sight to quarter a new place. The Celtic sea, the Methodist sea is there. You said once in the Engine House below Morvah That words make their world In the same way as the painter’s Mark surprises him Into seeing new. Sit here on the sparstone In this ruin where Once the early beam Engine pounded and broke The air with industry. Now the chuck of daws And the listening sea. ‘Shall we go down’ you said ‘Before the light goes And stand under the old Tinworkings around Morvah and St Just?’ You said ‘Here is the sea Made by alfred wallis Or any poet or painter’s Eye it encountered. Or is it better made By all those vesselled men Sometime it maintained? We all make it again.’ Give me your hand, Peter, To steady me on the word. Seventy-two by sixty, Italy hangs on the wall. A woman stands with a drink In some polite place And looks at SARACINESCO And turns to mention space. That one if she could Would ride Artistically The thermals you once rode. Peter, the phallic boys Begin to wink their lights. Godrevy and the Wolf Are calling Opening Time. We’ll take the quickest way The tin singers made. Climb here where the hand Will not grasp on air. And that dark-suited man Has set the dominoes out On the Queen’s table. Peter, we’ll sit and drink And go in the sea’s roar To Labrador with wallis Or rise on Lanyon’s stair. Uneasy, lovable man, give me your painting Hand to steady me taking the word-road home. Lanyon, why is it you’re earlier away? Remember me wherever you listen from. Lanyon, dingdong dingdong from carn to carn. It seems tonight all Closing bells are tolling Across the Duchy shire wherever I turn. #wsgraham #poetry #felting
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