Banking Up the Fire
October 21, 2025Reading time: 2 minutes
It is a wet, grey, still morning. The summer is over and the garden is quietly sinking into itself, with only the last marigolds and a few rogue Welsh poppies left, sparks against the wet soil and the grey painted fence. I can see the bluetits in the damson tree now, as the leaves thin out, and the robin is taking full advantage of the cleared spaces to find food in my footsteps. I'm banking everything down now, the garden, and, now that Comrades of Dark Night is with the publisher, the poetry, for the quieter winter, while I plan for the next bit.
My attitude to the garden has been enthusiastic but unfocussed so far. I've tried to get to know it - the soil, the weather, the gradient, sun and shade, I've put all the interesting herbs I could find in it, and grown them as well as I could. Learning about herbs has been a passion which I have indulged and written about for years, but of late something else has grown out of it - you can't do much about herbs without discovering a long history of cultural appropriation, neglect, suppression, forced exile, extractivism, environmental degradation and simple contempt for traditional learning and culture that goes alongside it. I want my garden to reflect some of that. I am going to focus on growing the kind of plants that are iconic in their own countries, but threatened by over-harvesting or environmental despoliation - the za'atar and Cretan thyme of Lebanon, white sage of Native American territories, the rose and rhodiola of Bulgaria, and our own cowslip and pasque flower. And I'll be looking at the issues thrown up - biodiversity loss, war, the rigged capitalist market, misinformation and the gate-keeping of learning.
It all sounds a bit grim. But you go to the herbs for healing and nourishment, colour and delight. You can't look at the herbal traditions withoout coming across myth, legend, music and poetry. The South African cellist and composer Abel Selaocoe begins his joyous and wonderful concerto Four Spirits with the movement MaSebego, giving thanks to traditional healers “for bridging the gap between the modern world and the advice of our ancestors.” I want my garden, and my writing, to reflect some of that too. Maybe we can learn to build a few more bridges, make some more poetry, cook something tasty, share a little time of peace.
Posted by Admin
Tags: |
Newest Post Previous Page: William Bonar Poetry Competition >>