Poetry in Motion

Taketh the temperature of

the fools above ground and

compareth it with that of the dead beneath

the sloping graves

Verily, art they not the same?

Scorneth they the warm fireside hearth and

the red wine that stirreth their words

Cold, cold and thrice cold was

the burial ground at Kiltearn

More life, methinks in fallen stones than

In the wits of the living

Exit and entrance there was but one –

an unkissed and sighing gate

Players? In truth a happy band of three –

nay, four if thou countest the angry moon

mayhaps four hundred if thou countest

the awakened dead

Did e’er Shakespeare cometh to this lonely ruin

to glimpse the sea through these trees

to stand upon this grass, this moss

This day – this cold, cold day, verily he cameth

Not him, but an echo of his words

proclaimed through other men’s lips

Fat crows standeth still on winter trees

The eye of heaven shineth not as

the rough wind whistleth round the church

Draw hither, fair Titania

Oberon, bloweth away thy contagious fog

Thou art not forgotten

Thy story lives this day resurrected

by your new lovers

The event was “Poetry in Motion”, organised by Creativity in Care. It was the 400^th anniversary of William Shakespeare. Poets and writers all, we met not on some blasted heath, but at Kiltearn Burial Ground to walk a while and listen to some of his famous speeches. Not a sunny day, not a warm day, we sat on picnic chairs nestled in blankets while our hosts acted out Romeo and Juliet and tested our knowledge of Hamlet and Macbeth.

Of course, we all had our parts to play.  Fat crows, frozen roses and the angry moon dragged us from our seats into the world of “let’s pretend”.

It seemed almost obscene to laugh as loud as we did, in such a quiet and tranquil place. Pranksters and players on a patch of sloping ground, we chanted our way through Midsummer Night’s Dream Act 11 Scene 1, striking a fat crow pose when the moment came.

 It wasn’t a day for being outdoors too long and we found shelter in a café. We compiled a list of words describing our outing – COLD was there in capital letters.  Free to use the words or not, and encouraged to mimic Shakespeare we set about writing something.

I could tell by the banter that they were a group that knew each other well. I’d met some of them before at other events organised by Creativity in Care. They laughed together.

It won’t be the cold cemetery that I will remember today, or the words of Shakespeare spoken among the gravestones. It won’t be the picnic chairs or the fat crows we pretended to be. It won’t even be the poetry.

The laughter among good friends – that’s what I’ll take from the day.

Yes, laughter.

I think Shakespeare would have laughed too.