Excuse me, but I seem to have got lost. It’s not
my house I’m looking for, where I planted fourteen
trees, and where I keep my books. It’s home
I want to find. It may be on the map, or in
the calendar, or not. It’s not that I’ve forgotten
its name, or century, or author, I just haven’t
learned them yet. It isn’t anywhere I’ve been, it isn’t
in the beechwoods neighbouring that old warm house
of toys and nightmares. I stayed a little time
in the Cree country of Ontario, and an hour or two
in the theatre at Epidauros, and the Great Mosque
at Cordoba, but I came away. I’ve looked in vain
through the little luminous window in the corner,
where the hawkers put their noses to the glass
and shout at me. I’m sorry, how can I expect
you to direct me? I must be either mad,
or the last speaker of this language. Sorry
to have troubled you. I’ll know it when I’m there.
James Graham says: ”I was born in 1939 in Ayrshire, Scotland, in a rural cottage lit by oil lamps. I was a teacher for thirty years, but would rather have been a celebrated journalist and bestselling author. My work has appeared in The Dark Horse, Poetry Scotland, and anthologies published by Edinburgh University Press, the Glasgow Centre for Contemporary Arts, the Ragged Raven Press, and others. My second collection, Clairvoyance, was published by Troubador Press in 2007. I am currently a ’site expert’ and tutor in verse-writing with the internet writers’ community writewords.org.uk.”
12 Responses to “AT THE CROSSROADS • by James Graham”
Comments
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November 6th, 2008 at 7:25 am
I loved this poem, James. Really lovely… the difference between house and home was great, and the poignant feel was haunting. Thanks!
November 6th, 2008 at 7:55 am
Interesting quest.
Cheers
Mark
November 6th, 2008 at 8:05 am
For me the depth and scope of this poem increases with each reading and I keep coming back to it and finding more. The idea that we all seek some spiritual home, that we are on a quest and that we easily fall into the trap of looking for our answers from others, rather from within, is so well explored here. We are all strangers in a sense and which of us speaks the same language or is certain of his path? I hope we know it when we are there…
James, thank you for allowing us to publish your poem.
Oonah
November 6th, 2008 at 11:40 am
Really nice, James. Oonah described it well.
November 6th, 2008 at 11:41 am
P.S. These lines I find particularly moving:
It’s not
my house I’m looking for, where I planted fourteen
trees, and where I keep my books. It’s home
I want to find.
November 6th, 2008 at 4:39 pm
Enjoyed your words today James, wonderful read. Love where this poem took me. Great to read you here!! Congrats!
Peace!
R Jay
November 7th, 2008 at 2:48 am
I agree with Oonah about the depth and scope. This poem is something to ponder upon. Thanks.
November 7th, 2008 at 6:15 am
It does get you pondering, doesn’t it? Thanks for the enjoyable read, James.
Davina
November 8th, 2008 at 11:37 am
Thanks for this, James.
I’ve planted lots of trees at various “houses” over the years and I’ve got lots of books, so you had me hooked with the first 3 lines. Lovely.
Elly
November 12th, 2008 at 10:26 pm
I have read this poem several times in the last couple of days. Every time I read it, I gain some new insight. Very good work! It’s uplifting and wrenching all at the same time–I don’t know how you managed that. I suppose that’s what good poetry is all about.
xoxox
November 15th, 2008 at 4:45 am
Thought provoking and moving
November 26th, 2008 at 1:39 pm
Many thanks to all for such affirmative comments.
James.