Bannau Brycheiniog, Mynyddau ddu
December 1997
Now, Abergavenny, the train slowing
west, frontier Blorenge, bleak and forlorn
watching the valleys where iron was born
by man-eating mines where steam coal was torn
from the earth to keep steel mills flowing
Memory colour, mountain peaks snow
impregnable sheep on Ysgyryd Fawr
Crickhowell barracks, Tudor Tretower
buzzing, deep throttle, kicking horsepower
the train departing, platform wind blow
Winding through mountain to Pengenffordd ridge
trout farm hard corner, old barn in retreat
tree line written stark where grass and rock meet
winding past rough hedge to narrow built street
chip shop and cafe, then Talgarth’s tight bridge
Bronllys, old castle, the hospital where
my sickening mother spent her last days
bathed in the light of the Beacons’ warm rays
her illness then in its terminal phase
the jet lag sadness of seeing her there
Thoughts back many years, a cool April day
touched down too late, that long distance morning
in the car park, reality dawning
out of the airport, motorway mourning
the evening before, she’d just flown away
Painting aromas, a moving still life
preparing the meal end of the day
peas, leeks, potatoes, lamb steaks on the tray
amber sun fading to Breconshire grey
stirring emotions for mother, for wife
Back door nudged open, a flood of cold damp
axe split chopped wood blocks, a butchered pine tree
wet windows trickle, misting in empathy
while we tune to a concert on radio three
cider glass glowing by soft Chinese lamp
Radnorshire high winds bring garden to life
minuet branches, raw indigo air
half creaking fencing, flowers stripped bare
nursing a glass by the old cooker, where
once she conducted with pots, spoon, and knife
Cold air star clear, Wye rapids flowing
walk to The Bridgend, a setting for two
old stone wall brass work, a flickering hue
from spark blazing logs. When dinner is through
talks of my children, seeing them growing
Taxi from Mardy, then coach to Heathrow
Magor and Bristol, night skies on their way
through runway tunnel, bus parking in bay
security, check in, duty-free pay
memory drinking in Terminal Four
tailor crew greeting by front cabin door
clicking of seat belt, the turbo-fans roar
the Rolls-Royce quartet beginning their chore
for the thundering take-off for hot Singapore
through the cold perspex, the runway lights flow
Bannau Brycheiniog, Mynyddau ddu
that warm cold December, some five years ago
my severed Achilles making me slow
evening logs flickering, casting a glow
on memory colour, memory writing
of warm evening time, winter breeze biting
picturing now the one who’s alighting
from the train that’s stopped running, and now we see
the wooden hotel by the south China sea
where tied roasting notes of the Wye symphony
microwave whisper to a pruned Mardy tree
The train slowing, now, Abergavenny
