I heard somebody recently say “bent the hazel”, and immediately wrote it down as a possible prompt for a poem. I have a strong association with hazel as a wood, a tree, a source of comfort and mischief, a material for making, an eye colour, and a reminder of simpler times.
It’s been rattling around in my head for a few weeks now, and here’s what has fallen out so far. I’m not particularly happy with it, and I think the 3 rhyming pairs pattern is a bit awkward, but I wanted it to feel a bit woodsy, and folksy, and not really like something polished. All the same, I believe that a piece of art – especially poetry, music, or song – exist as snapshots of what they are in that moment. That said, here it is: –
Bent the Hazel.
Chalk. Antler. Shoulder bone. The hardness of flint, the yielding of shale.
Bent the hazel,
Split the rod.
Shovelled shit,
Filled the hod.
(Followed paths,
Your forebears trod).
Struck the iron,
Sprayed the spark.
Spied the barn-owl,
Heard the lark.
(Walked in forests,
Inky-dark).
Wondered often,
What’s it worth?
Sung the old songs,
Walked the Earth.
(Fled from sadness,
Forgot all mirth).
Iron. Music. The smell of baking, the memories of youth.
Dani O'Shea 