Today I went in search of the Ladies Walk. Many moons ago, the ladies of Logan House did go for strolls down through the woodland edge beyond the Garden, down to Port Logan, where there is still a stone bathing hut. Here they put on their sturdy ankle-length bathing finery and paddled into the sea. But what’s left of their path this August was impassable. Within 25 yards of this photo, it was a mass of chest-high bracken and nettles. Your correspondent was beaten back, breathless, covered in goosegrass, and lightly stung. I know where the other end is though. I have a draft poem underway. Something like:
‘The Ladies step out neatly/ on the cobbles./ The dark leaf litter does not/ stain their handmade shoes./ Their shades are ankle-deep and brambles/ snag their hems, but they don’t stop./ Their voices cling to space between the trees.’
Here is the latest (perhaps last) poem to go on the Poet Tree. Thank you Maria Theresa Maggi, from USA, who sent it to us. And I thought I’d post a poem about the Poet Tree by one of our youngest Garden Poets this August, Matilda, aged 8.
The home of all the poems
with its twisty branches.
All the poems on the tree
in the breeze.
And I walked around the garden with lovely D&G poets Renita and Kriss, reading out our roughest drafts in search of pearls. Which we found. And sharing with them, and others, some of the many rich, funny, sad, subtle poems that Logan’s visitors have written in the last few weeks.
Back on Friday – my last day!