Hello, Stranger Poems

Ab ovo usque ad mala, from the egg to the apple. That’s the way the Romans ate their meals recognizing the symbolic journey of life. We’ve had 15 year old Sezen and now we have Su Palmer-Jones to show how poetry spans time and age. Su is a hidden gem of a poet, living in Moniaive and only engaging on social media occasionally to say she’s not engaging on social media. She is a novelist (under the name Su Walton) and has published 4 poetry books. Her poetry is accessible, funny and often quite lyrically beautiful.

Here she is in fine, ambiguous form in a weirdly hypnotic poem, the ‘Visitor’, registering the continued, circular changing of the Seasons.

The Visitor

We are not used to darkness here,
It is a strange guest-
Painting the trees black, the sky storm-grey
And the long, summer-dry grass pale as bone;
Making the rain invisible, hiding
The end of the road and turning the hills to stone.
Inside our houses, with the lamps lit,
Our work does are mirrors of jet.
All we can see through them are reflections
Of our private lives, where gates and hedges
Hover like ghosts among the furniture,
While moths that are not in here dance out there
Upon the interface, like alien spirits
Emerging from the void.

We who live in the land of long light,
We had forgotten darkness.
Each year it comes as a surprise,
An unexpected visitor -
The poor relation we hoped had gone away
To the Antipodes, to make good; but no!
They turn up on the doorstep with the first chill,
Starving, to stay with us again.
What, time to look within
Already? And the harvest not yet gathered!

Each year is the same. Time passes....
We who live in the land of long darkness,
We forget the light.
Each year it comes as a surprise,
An unexpected visitor-
The rich relation we heard had gone away
the Antipodes, to relax; and lo!
They turn up on the doorstep with the first warmth,
Smiling, to burden us with gifts.
What, time to look without
already? And the seeds not yet sorted!

Inside our houses, with the lamps unlit,
Our windows receive the world.
We can see through them; the reflections
Of our windowsill ornaments in that outer life,
hover like ghosts among the greenery,
While flies that are not out there buzz in here
Upon the interface, like prisoners
Returning to the wild.
We are not used to light here,
It is a strange guest-
Painting the trees green, the sky pink and blue,
The fresh grass in the pasture emerald,
Making the raindrops visible, showing
The end of the road and turning the hills to gold.

Here in the land of long darkness,
Here in the land of long light,
The same guest returns in different guises
Bearing demands that may be prizes.

The series is curated by Hugh McMillan, poet and writer, Ambassador for the Scottish Poetry Library in 2020 and Editor of its anthology ‘Best Scottish Poems’ for 2021.