Giles Watson's poetry and prose
The White Horse Hides from Prying Eyes
The White Horse Hides from Prying Eyes
Sometimes, the White Horse gets tired
Of celebrity status: loud children treading
In his eye, turning three times and making
Wishes, people setting up easels, thinking
They’re Ravilious, devotees of von Daniken
Insisting in his hearing that he is a message
For aliens – and then the archaeologists
Get going, digging down to his thigh-deep
Underside, sampling silt. A horse has got
To kick heels occasionally; sometimes climbers
On his back tickle and itch like flies. Even
At dark-moon, there is the danger some
Human do-gooder will climb up there, find
He has absconded, leaving behind a dusty,
Horse-shaped trench. And when he has
Scampered off, a mile above the Ridgeway,
Making diversions to visit his chalky
Friends, he risks being spotted by some
Drunken neo-Druid who has staggered
Out of the public house at Avebury
For a pee. It has happened once or twice,
And the White Horse has loped into
The cirrus, then come panting to ground
At Swallowhead, craving water. He lies
Flat as East Anglia, splayed out across
The landscape, his head slotting perfectly
Under the arched bough of an ancient
Willow. A cloutie is sucked inadvertently
Up his nostril. He has to suppress
A sneeze. All around him, there’s an ooze
Of wetness which will make the Kennet,
Augmented by the Winterbourne. His leg
Sinks whitely under the Spirogyra. Now
His breath is held. But no one comes:
No one notices the black shadow of his
Absenteeism, no one reports him
As a U.F.O., and the neo-Druid’s Wiccan
Friend has bought another round of real
Ale. A tardy swallow decides to migrate.
The horse blinks. It begins to rain.
Poem by Giles Watson, 2012. Swallowhead Spring, which is a short walk from Silbury Hill and West Kennet Long Barrow, is regarded as the source of the River Kennet, although much of the water is supplied by the Winterbourne, which joins the Kennet at the same point. The spring, with its over-arching willow, is a popular walking destination for modern pagans, who regularly hang clouties (strips of coloured cloth and ribbon) from the branches of the tree. Large sarsens laid across the river-bed serve as stepping stones when the river is awash.
The White Horse Hides from Prying Eyes
The White Horse Hides from Prying Eyes
Sometimes, the White Horse gets tired
Of celebrity status: loud children treading
In his eye, turning three times and making
Wishes, people setting up easels, thinking
They’re Ravilious, devotees of von Daniken
Insisting in his hearing that he is a message
For aliens – and then the archaeologists
Get going, digging down to his thigh-deep
Underside, sampling silt. A horse has got
To kick heels occasionally; sometimes climbers
On his back tickle and itch like flies. Even
At dark-moon, there is the danger some
Human do-gooder will climb up there, find
He has absconded, leaving behind a dusty,
Horse-shaped trench. And when he has
Scampered off, a mile above the Ridgeway,
Making diversions to visit his chalky
Friends, he risks being spotted by some
Drunken neo-Druid who has staggered
Out of the public house at Avebury
For a pee. It has happened once or twice,
And the White Horse has loped into
The cirrus, then come panting to ground
At Swallowhead, craving water. He lies
Flat as East Anglia, splayed out across
The landscape, his head slotting perfectly
Under the arched bough of an ancient
Willow. A cloutie is sucked inadvertently
Up his nostril. He has to suppress
A sneeze. All around him, there’s an ooze
Of wetness which will make the Kennet,
Augmented by the Winterbourne. His leg
Sinks whitely under the Spirogyra. Now
His breath is held. But no one comes:
No one notices the black shadow of his
Absenteeism, no one reports him
As a U.F.O., and the neo-Druid’s Wiccan
Friend has bought another round of real
Ale. A tardy swallow decides to migrate.
The horse blinks. It begins to rain.
Poem by Giles Watson, 2012. Swallowhead Spring, which is a short walk from Silbury Hill and West Kennet Long Barrow, is regarded as the source of the River Kennet, although much of the water is supplied by the Winterbourne, which joins the Kennet at the same point. The spring, with its over-arching willow, is a popular walking destination for modern pagans, who regularly hang clouties (strips of coloured cloth and ribbon) from the branches of the tree. Large sarsens laid across the river-bed serve as stepping stones when the river is awash.