The loss of the gardeners of the Heligan estate in Cornwall during the First World War, and the garden's subsequent dereliction is a story that is well-known here in the West Country. Resurrected and restored some years ago, the gardens are now a very popular tourist attraction and this field of poppies was sown in commemoration of the lives that were lost.
I thought long and hard about a poem for today, a hundred years since the cessation of hostilities, so many war poems to choose from, oft quoted at this time, but in the end I settled on this. It seems to speak not only of loss but also of optimism, the triumph of light over darkness.
Poppies
Mary OliverThe poppies send up their
orange flares; swaying
in the wind, their congregations
are a levitationof bright dust, of thin
and lacy leaves.
There isn’t a place
in this world that doesn’tsooner or later drown
in the indigos of darkness,
but now, for a while,
the roughageshines like a miracle
as it floats above everything
with its yellow hair.
Of course nothing stops the cold,black, curved blade
from hooking forward—
of course
loss is the great lesson.But I also say this: that light
is an invitation
to happiness,
and that happiness,when it’s done right,
is a kind of holiness,
palpable and redemptive.
Inside the bright fields,touched by their rough and spongy gold,
I am washed and washed
in the river
of earthly delight—and what are you going to do—
what can you do
about it—
deep, blue night?
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