Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Nazeing, Essex \ High Balling Wind

Alan: At the center of great commotion, a stillness.

Nazeing, Essex

The blackthorn
burst of white on black
scratching, scratching itself in the wind.

Towards the Lea,
on the sheltered south slope
below the copse,
bee skeps.

Near, through the gated hedge,
gleaming white

Nancy: What else would a railroad man’s daughter compare the wind to?  It’s spring – the wind blows whoooee.

High Balling Wind

This wind’s traveling.  This wind’s moving
on a long grade.
If you could hop this wind
wouldn’t you fly . . .
But you can’t catch this wind.
It’s got a heavy load; it’s full of winter
and it’s headed out.

I heard that whistle, and I went out
to see.  Yes, this wind’s blowing
a clear track.  This wind’s blowing
stand aside, coming through . . .
No, you can’t catch this wind,
it’s wailing high ball,
right through town.  This is a freight train
wind; it makes my feet itch,
but I can’t catch it – stand back –
it’s high balling right through town.
Whoooee . . . stand aside, coming through,
this wind.

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