Tuesday Poem: “Fey”
Fey
your door
stands open still
at dusk, your light
a moth’s antenna
across
shadowed lawn
bare feet rustle
in last year’s
leaf drift, a wind
sways
through naked trees
you say
you will hang
a cricket cage
above your lintel,
burn apple wood
in the grate –
dance, the circle
of your skirt
reflecting
the moon’s dark face
I ride
a rocking horse
with patchwork eyes,
steal
through your door
to the cold-stone hearth –
dream
of dervish footsteps
hurdy-gurdy trees
(c) Helen Lowe
Highly Commended, Takahe National Poetry Competition 2008
Published in Takahe 68, December 2009
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Yesterday, Helen Rickerby was my guest here on “… Anything, Really”, posting on the evolution of the recently published JAAM 28: Dance Dance Dance. Fey was not eligible for submission to JAAM because it had already been published in Takahe—but it remains one of my favourite “dance” poems, which I would like to share with you today in honour of Dance Dance Dance.
As part of the Tuesday Poem Blog’s celebration of Christmas, Tuesday poets are pairing up to feature poems by their “partner poet” for next Tuesday, 21 December. I am really pleased to be paired with Helen Rickerby and look forward to bringing you her poem next week.
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To read today’s featured poem on the Tuesday Poem Blog—and link to other Tuesday Poets posting around NZ and the world—either click here or on the Quill icon in the sidebar.
Oh, the elemental earthiness of this makes me shiver. A wondrous evocation of ‘dance’, Helen!
Thank you, Elizabeth.
This is absolutely gorgeous! I love the slightly ominous, otherwordly image of ‘the rocking horse with patchwork eyes’,
Thanks, Archee–this poem is a favourite of mine, too, so it’s nice to know that it has ‘hit the spot’ for you.
The title alone makes this a great read, it’s gorgeous, for me it was evocative of the wonder of childhood.
Thanks, Alicia.
Fantastic poem–there’s a great play of light and dark. The ‘your’ is a little unhinged, a little unfixed, possibly dangerous, very fey. The poem is so suggestive . . . it starts me riding off on my own little horse with patchwork eyes. A marvelous poem.
I am glad you feel that double-edge to the poem, even the title is a ‘clue’, as is ‘dervish’, although ‘hurdy-gurdy’ pulls one back into a safer realm—despite that possibility of “a host of furious fancies” inherited from Tom O’ Bedlam’s song (Anon.) Enjoy your ride, Harvey. 🙂