I’ve been reading a lot about gardens lately, and poets as gardeners. Here’s a few links and thoughts, with today’s piece.
Part of Margaret Atwood’s poem: ‘Sor Juana works in the garden’ I’ve blogged on here:
Here is Seamus Heaney reading his famous poem ‘Digging’:
I started this with the idea of digging my life up, then I thought of that childish longing to bury something, ie chocolate, and grow a chocolate tree! Or, if you swallow apple seeds, branches will grow out of your ears next week. So it’s a bit of both of those, plus the fact that our upstairs neighbours had a party which meant our patio got covered in cigarette butts.
And here is today’s poem:
I take a spade to my life
Shopping lists, Sainsbury receipts
All crushed up, their thin typed paper
Buried by purple broccoli
Cigarette stubs and packets in the trees
Like birds, their claws into life, greedily
I’ve planted my herbs, my seeds
Golden syrup, soft brown sugar
Any day now, I’ll see the soil