Sounds of the Day, by Norman MacCaig
Sounds of the Day, by Norman MacCaig
When a clatter came,
it was horses crossing the ford.
When the air creaked, it was
a lapwing seeing us off the premises
of its private marsh. A snuffling puff
ten yards from the boat was the tide blocking and
unblocking a hole in a rock.
When the black drums rolled, it was water
falling sixty feet into itself.
When the door
scraped shut, it was the end
of all the sounds there are.
You left me
beside the quietest fire in the world.
I thought I was hurt in my pride only,
forgetting that,
when you plunge your hand in freezing water,
you feel
a bangle of ice round your wrist
before the whole hand goes numb.
— Norman MacCaig
Love me a pastoral poem, and this one blends into something else after the pivot. Poems like this conjure up such vivid memories for different places for me that reading it is almost like a brief form of escapism. In another life I’d love to live up a mountain and tend sheep or something.
Norman MacCaig is so good at layering up his imagery in a brief space – his verse is delicate yet the meaning shines through. On a totally unrelated note, it turns out he was raised in Edinburgh and read Classics at the University!
Featured Image: a bonfire at Wee Toriston, on Coll.
TJC 
just realised that the accompanying photo is in fact a video clip. Lovely!
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