Skin Cape ~~anna hood
If you’re discussing earth
consider the bog princess
think how the light dwindled
shrunk the size of her space
to one sculptured moment
remember how they stalked her
with sticks and stones
turned her insides out
turned her upsides down
turned her
burnt umber in her skin cape
her embroidered woolen skirt
steeped her for centuries
under a crust of peat
a boil of insects
her last song
to her lover or sister, or perhaps even
Blue Tooth that Danish King
who clasped his hands
around the thin stem
of her neck and squeezed
until her song stayed frozen in her head
like the needle on an old 45.
Consider her single B flat
resonating since 8000 BC
until someone heard
until someone opened
the earth and dug her out
still wrapped in her skin cape
and set her song free
set it flying to where she waits
her face pressed against
that thin gossamer wall
between the living
and the dead.
If you’re discussing earth
consider the bog
princess.
If you’re discussing earth
consider the bog princess
think how the light dwindled
shrunk the size of her space
to one sculptured moment
remember how they stalked her
with sticks and stones
turned her insides out
turned her upsides down
turned her
burnt umber in her skin cape
her embroidered woolen skirt
steeped her for centuries
under a crust of peat
a boil of insects
her last song
to her lover or sister, or perhaps even
Blue Tooth that Danish King
who clasped his hands
around the thin stem
of her neck and squeezed
until her song stayed frozen in her head
like the needle on an old 45.
Consider her single B flat
resonating since 8000 BC
until someone heard
until someone opened
the earth and dug her out
still wrapped in her skin cape
and set her song free
set it flying to where she waits
her face pressed against
that thin gossamer wall
between the living
and the dead.
If you’re discussing earth
consider the bog
princess.
posted by anna at 5:07 PM
6 Comments:
Such a wonderfully descriptive poem. A blog with a bog. Since I have no experience with a bog, I was bogged down for a moment. Then I had a Danish dream, I am a Dane you know. Danish dreams are as dizzy as dozens of others.
I could'nt hear what hairy King Harald said. I was overcome by his herring breath. I couldn't hear Hairy Harald for the herring. King Frederick next appeared, his eyes still wet with tears. It turns out that this mummy was someone else's mammy and not the bog princess at all.
whatever returns from oblivion
returns to find a voice
my my annie
you paint those lesser devastations
so devastatingly
and shall i garden today?
As I'm sure you know in Europe, there've been many instances of bodies discovered in the bogs, thousands of years old.
I loved your poem, not just for the historical aspect of it, but for the beauty and dignity you gave to her, despite perhaps a violent death. That single B flat will stay with me for awhile. . .
I turn my back and look...
Beauty. To the Archives with you!
-maglette
Kaj, you made me laugh! Hairy King Harry with herring breath!
Bear, as always you touch my heart.
Shadow, Your comments are always very special.
And my dear friend Maggie, my brightest, bestest fan!!
to all thanks a huge bunch!
This is wonderful Anna.
I found a picture of your bog princess today. Seems she might be in danger of melting. I wanted to post it here, but can't figure out how. I'll send to you in an Email.
I loved this.
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