Drumelzier.(Poem)

 
DRUMELZIER 
 
   I have to try to make some sense 
   of this strange place. It is as if translation 
   had been made, in language I can't emulate 
   or describe; but remember it 
   like this: 
 
      I pulled the van over, on the gravel 
   by the sideroad, switched off the engine; 
   Jim and I got out. The sudden interruption 
   of movement, machine, the sharp metallic 
   edge of the van-doors shutting, key grating the lock, 
   released us into sunlight, afternoon, a loose but close assembly 
   of trees, leaves silver, green and whispering. The breeze was 
   shifting through them in directions, unpredicted. It was warm. 
   We walked across the road, down a yellow grass bank 
   to the flat triangle of field, beside the Powsail burn, 
   running there beside us towards the Tweed, which 
   we couldn't see, lower in a cut in the valley 
   ahead of us, where we could see the shadow 
   and the dark walls of trees beyond, on 
   the other side of the river. 
 
      Shadows seemed to move among the leaves 
   and slowly, the perceptible audible context 
   was changed. We could hear 
   no more the rustling sound of leaves; we could hear 
   instead, an actual conversation, ...