Hi all
Another McAllister’s Mates where I tell you about one of the many great writers on Substack that I have stumbled upon and become enthralled by. This week I’m featuring the nature worshipping, yet warnful poems of GW COOK.
You can meet some of my other friends in the previous instalments: 42 41 40 39 38 37 36 35 34 33 32 31 30 29 28 27 26 25 24 23 22 21 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
GW COOK
Landscape poetry is usually peaceful and comforting. Odes to the land that offer us a respite from the stresses and strains of our frantic lives, maybe even lamenting a little on our careless treatment of the natural world. Fair enough. Who doesn't love Keats and a nice cup of tea… But. Shouldn't worshiping songs of Gaia show a little more awe, maybe even fear? GW COOK certainly dances with the daffodils across the milky way, his poetry however (and all due respect and love to Mr Wordsworth) bows to the daffodils’ bewitching power, and is only too well aware of the ensaring tree roots and dangerous mushrooms those daffodils call friends.
Landscape poetry is usually peaceful and comforting. Odes to the land that offer us a respite from the stresses and strains of our frantic lives, maybe even lamenting a little on our careless treatment of the natural world. Fair enough. Who doesn’t love Keats and a nice cup of tea… But. Shouldn’t worshiping songs of Gaia show a little more awe, maybe even fear? GW Cook certainly dances with the daffodils across the milky way, his poetry however (and all due respect and love to Mr Wordsworth) bows to the daffodils bewitching power, and is only too well aware of the ensuring tree roots and dangerous mushrooms those daffodils call friends.
Beyond The Meadows
this natural place renders all contrivance moot
the softness of the knee-high grass an ocean of opaque green
on the horizon the jagged remains of the forest
darkens the view
and the stream quietly whispers
softly rippling out across the meadow
as I draw near the birdsong beckons from the trees
and the breeze breathes heavy
the whoosh of the long grass signals passage
along the stream’s path twisting and turning
guiding me headlong into the forest fringe
ringed with bracken and another place in time.
(Please do read the full poem)
Not so much a pleasant stroll amongst subservient blooms, as a wild ecstatic dance with powers we can never understand. The opening line renders all contrivance moot, this beauty is not out to ease or enliven our daily routines and worldly priorities. Both the meadow and GW Cook’s poetry seek to shatter the inherited pretence and offer us something much more dangerous and real. The darkened, jagged horizon and the opaque ocean with concealed dangers waiting to snare the unwary travellers. This is no mere pretty meadow, it holds the terrible beauty of Blake’s Tiger (yes GW COOK my other mate Will Blake very much approves).
The next poem, while published earlier, feels like a natural follow up to Beyond the Meadow. If that poem paints the threshold of the green realm, this one shows the dangers waiting for those who cross it.
Doorway
from the front door to the meadow miles I wander
to reach forest and streams unseen in my neighbourhood
my thoughts settle in the branches shadowed leaves
what it is I recognised standing at my front door
the trees the birds the natural weather of the world
I am the stranger in the field the one I see
standing on the doorstep remembering nothing
I rest my beginnings in the late daylight
as a flock of birds flies south for the summer
These aren’t cosy reveries - they are the promise (or threat?) of the forests and rivers to take your soul from your body, then send it back with secrets the mind would rather stay hidden. The author’s mind flies into a distant forest and amidst the elegant depictions of birdsong and riversong finds itself staring back at itself. The entwined meanings of the lines “I rest my beginnings in the late daylight as a flock of birds flies south for the summer ” is magnificent. Is our hero facing enlightenment or annihilation? The contrasting images of resting beginnings, fading daylight, and birds migrating delivers complex and contradictory ideas in a smooth rush of honey. This is enlightenment and oneness not as bliss and serenity, but a reckoning with wildness. Mother earth has not come to smooth away the creases of modern life but to tear away the veil for the pretence that it is. These are powerful ideas masterfully presented.
As we have seen GW’s poems are deeply layered and they meet you where you’re ready to find them. The next poem especially has manifold meanings - a relationship, morality… I like to think of it as closer to the triptych we’ve explored here. We have reached the threshold of Gaia’s realm, dared to cross it and now we must face that we are forever changed and a stranger to our previous smaller selves.
Final Breath
I question the morning as if it could answer me
dawn rises peeling back the covers
when the last minute of the last hour
of the last day has come and gone
all I’ve done will be undone
I hope the indent in the sand where I lay
fills with the tide
you remain the burning sun
cast across the ocean of things
existing long before I dreamed
memories of pain and love released
tumble to the shore on dark blue waves
folded deep within the moist sand
I remember nothing now
a dawn chorus of birds in trees
transcends any human language I know
The images are beautiful and primal - once again the theme of surrendering to the unknown and our own insignificance is explored. What is lost in such surrender? What rewards does it bring? The protagonist speaks of being undone, of releasing all their memories, yet we see their growing awareness of an ocean of things existing long before they dreamed. The final lines speak of the birds’ dawn chorus transcending human language. Maybe, just maybe the secrets in that birdsong are about to be revealed…
For me, these pieces as a whole explore an idea deeper than many odes to nature, even the most revered ones. If deep contemplation of the landscape expands our consciousness, is there a risk that our comfortable, perhaps shallow concept of self will shatter under that great pressure? We are often told that spending time in nature will ease away our stresses and make us more productive in our daily routines. True in one sense, but based on an assumption that nature exists to serve our egos. These poems propose a very different model of our understanding of nature. Perhaps that beauty seeks to charm and ensnare the ego like the singing sirens to forever trap or perhaps free our minds.
Walk the meadow and follow the treeline down to GW Cook’s singing river. Beware though, are you prepared to meet the one who looks back at you, as you stare into the reflected face upon the water?
I hope you enjoy these beautiful works as much as I enjoyed reading and writing about them.
You can meet some of my other friends in the previous instalments: 42 41 40 39 38 37 36 35 34 33 32 31 30 29 28 27 26 25 24 23 22 21 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Substack has proven to be a treasure trove and I already have another gifted writer lined up for my next review newsletter.
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