1
A sign: 'Considerate Constructor's Scheme'
-a declaration, put up on the fencing which surrounded a building site.
it spoke of honest intents,
conscientious endeavours,
sincerity of purpose.
A 'mission statement', espoused values carefully tabulated:
it chronicled civic duties,
a recognition of social concerns,
environmental priorities,
meaningful consultation,
it was 'concerned', worthy, determinedly 'inclusive'.
Alas, it was revealed as shallow, just polished surface.
Underneath were sleight of hand, dissembling, calculated subterfuge,
corporate guile and chicanery.
The language of slaughter is often anodyne, that of massacre, so reasonable.
As the advertiser's plausibility is bankrupt, so the trader's pitch is sly, wily, cunning;
it deceives whilst proffering reassurance.
From such dissimulation, we deserts make.
2
The trees are cut down, and I am left troubled.
They are cut down, no longer there to be with.
I cannot greet them in the mornings, lean against them at dusk,
they are not there to touch, confide in,
to lend perspective, proportion to ruminations,
-to watch over me.
They are cut down,
and I am disconcerted, trembling.
For there is less to ground me, in time, to the earth.
My senses are jarred, cohesion ruptured.
And I did not say goodbye.
There is less blessed shade when the sun is pitiless.
The crows and magpies and parakeets have gone.
3
How dare this happen.
Now, there is tarmac, pavements.
A sales hoarding shows fulfilled and contented people gazing out over a central
lawn from their rows of metal balconies, phones in hand. It shows friends sitting in
summer dresses at a picnic; orderly play; cycle paths; people wave joyously
and -for some reason often included in such depictions- a child holds aloft a balloon.
Where a big oak stood, there is now a sales office.
'Exclusive Apartments' it says.
I am told:
"The plans were available to the public, displayed in room 4B
at the town hall for the requisite number of days; you had time to register any issues".
From such dissimulation we deserts and mistrust make.
4
The four largest trees stood near the river
(the squirrels jumped between them, circled / chased around them, ran up and down;
I often wondered what it would be like to have their view).
I walked amongst them in all seasons I looked upon them and experienced
wonderment, which precedes object description,
astonishment, which precedes analysis.
I came to them
-after the rain, when the drops were shimmering on the tops of their branches;
-when they were laden with snow;
-in the October light, when the wind whirled and the nests swayed;
-in January, when there was just a few hours to see the light shine on them.
I collected their fallen leaves and cones. I sketched them...
the Mimosa beside the bridge;
the Plane trees, nests of violas at their feet;
the Poplars by the railway arch;
the ankle-deep fluff around the Cottonwoods;
the Willow, favourite perch of the pigeons.
5
I remember sitting nestled in the fig tree at home, long and gnarled... it leaned
against the rickety fence near the kitchen window.
I watched the wasps burrow deep inside the swollen fruits.
Nearby: the Crab Apple, the Honeysuckle, the tall Pear up against the house,
the rhododendrons around the pond, the damsel flies, skating water-boatmen.
I recall kneeling on the seat in the landing bay window, looking out at my father
and brother in the front garden, excavating the stumps then digging out the
roots of two trees, as if they were extracting two large lower back teeth.
These trees had stood each side of the entrance gate and steps, which led to an
interlocking pattern of little tiled paths.
Soon there was, instead, an expanse of lawn and a curved tarmac driveway.
People said it was an improvement.
Nothing was ever the same again.
6
The trees are cut down and I am left troubled.
They are cut down, no longer there to be with.
I cannot greet them in the mornings, lean against them at dusk,
they are not there to touch, confide in,
to lend perspective, proportion to ruminations,
-to watch over me.
They are cut down and I am disconcerted. trembling.
For there is less to ground me, in time, to the earth.
The domain is violated, aspect disfigured; barbarism has prevailed.
I was unable to say goodbye.
There is less blessed shade when the sun is pitiless.
The crows and magpies and parakeets have gone.
7
Now, there is noise, much noise, dust, rubbish squatting and tumbling,
bright lights, many people strutting, guzzling, stuffing,
chicken bones spill from discarded take-away boxes.
There are new cosmetic plantings, saplings, untended;
often Silver Birch, already ripped and trampled.
Dogs are trained to jump up and clamp their jaws on the branches;
they sway to and fro, snarling.
There is silly prettification
and making all 'manageable'.
There now is -beside the sluggish brook- lurid signs telling of
'Strong Currents', 'Treacherous Mud', 'Risk of Drowning'.
8
My friends had stood for hundreds of years,
I could rely on them.
There is not / can be no such relation with despoilers.
There is just short-term expediencies, the latest idiocies of architects and
excuses for denudation, 'rationally' justified in terms of
'sight-lines',
better light,
safety of children,
enhanced amenities to be enjoyed by all,
a central community 'hub',
-another bloody cafe,
and the hellish intrusion of 'Outdoor Gym' equipment.
9
I deplore the dishonest, counterfeit uses of language;
but, it seems, I still have faith in words, what is said, written.
Apparently, I return to a position of innocence after each misuse,
each betrayal, each deception.
Perhaps I am unable to truly comprehend the nature of the outrageous / barefaced lie.
I once had a great love, but I was not cherished or treasured in return;
the words were untrue, a cruel fabrication.
From such dissimulation, we deserts and mistrust and madness make.
10
The trees are cut down and I am left troubled.
They are cut down, no longer there to be with.
I cannot greet them in the mornings, lean against them at dusk,
they are not there to touch, confide in,
to lend perspective, proportion to ruminations,
-to watch over me.
They are cut down and I am disconcerted, trembling.
For there is less to ground me, in time, to the earth.
My senses are jarred, cohesion ruptured.
It was too late to say goodbye.
Now there is less blessed shade when the sun is pitiless.
The crows and magpies and parakeets have gone.
They are cut down.
Some trunks have been left, for children to climb upon.
I count their rings and weep.
I am bereft.
Inconsolable.
A short film of 'Loss' is performed at:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YNgWUukd3NE
Peter Jennings
Leslie, Scotland
November 2019
