Giles Watson's poetry and prose
Cauldron
Cauldron
The copper disintegrates like a fallen leaf
Devoured by a mildew of verdigris.
It flakes at the edges, embracing
A clod of soil where a hearty stew
Once boiled, and a column of steam
And smoke ascended through the roof
Towards the stars. The metal chain
That kedged it to a beam is rusted
Into oblivion, the hollow ladle gone
Through the guts of worms, after
The wood decayed. Lean in to hear
An echo of ancient conversations,
Trapped in the bowels of the cauldron,
The tongues and teeth that formed
The words long-cold, surrendered
To the hungry sovereignty of soil.
Poem by Giles Watson, 2012. Inspired by the remains of a 6th Century copper-alloy cauldron from Watchfield Cemetery, now housed in the Vale and Downland Museum, Wantage. The cauldron would have been suspended over a hearth, either from a roof-beam or from a tripod. Smoke and steam would have escaped the house through a hole in the ceiling.
Cauldron
Cauldron
The copper disintegrates like a fallen leaf
Devoured by a mildew of verdigris.
It flakes at the edges, embracing
A clod of soil where a hearty stew
Once boiled, and a column of steam
And smoke ascended through the roof
Towards the stars. The metal chain
That kedged it to a beam is rusted
Into oblivion, the hollow ladle gone
Through the guts of worms, after
The wood decayed. Lean in to hear
An echo of ancient conversations,
Trapped in the bowels of the cauldron,
The tongues and teeth that formed
The words long-cold, surrendered
To the hungry sovereignty of soil.
Poem by Giles Watson, 2012. Inspired by the remains of a 6th Century copper-alloy cauldron from Watchfield Cemetery, now housed in the Vale and Downland Museum, Wantage. The cauldron would have been suspended over a hearth, either from a roof-beam or from a tripod. Smoke and steam would have escaped the house through a hole in the ceiling.