Harrison Stickle - A Poetical Guide to the Lake District Fells.

Harrison Stickle.

Wandering along shores of 'Low Wood, Windermere',
My eye is drawn to familiar friend on far horizon,
Ah that famous silhouette of hallowed heights,
Glorified in full grandeur by setting sun,
The towering peaks stand in shadow- Lord of Langdale.

My mind floods with marvellous memories,
Oh those cherished days in all weathers tested,
That have seared into my very heart and soul
Becoming part of my true essence,
Time after time till man became mountain.

Water flows like blood coursing through rugged ravines,
The deep dark chasm drama of 'Dungeon Ghyll'
Intimacy! Shocking Intimacy, showing mountain bones,
Ravages bared by waters raging measure,
Mellowed here and there by Mothers kinder hand.

From ghyll to pinnacle on reminiscent wing,
I look down on the world far far below,
Free from the pressures of modern life,
I sit on clouds contemplating, meditating,
The dynamic dualism a poles reversed mirror.

Reviews

[Dale Pavolko]

Too many adjectives tell me something I can’t see in the picture.

the writer is trying to force-feed the emotion instead of letting the image do the hard lifting give me
A single, specific, slightly ugly detail that only someone who has actually been there would know.

That’s what the poem is missing and what no amount of “towering,” “hallowed,” or “glorified” can fake.

Examples of the invisible thing in Harrison Stickle’s case (stuff you can’t see not even the most perfect golden-hour photo):

- The way the wind up there smells faintly of sheep piss and hot iron.
- How the quartz in the scree flashes like broken mirrors when you’re stupid enough to climb in full sun.
- The exact sound your knee makes when it pops on the third false summit and you realize you still have 300 feet of loose dinner-plating death to go.
- The taste of blood in your mouth because you bit your lip to keep from crying when the cloud finally lifted and you saw the whole valley laid out like someone just pulled the plug on the world.

Those details don’t need adjectives. They do the awe for you, quietly, in the back of the throat.

That’s what’s missing. That’s what all the thesaurus-vomit is frantically trying to paper over.

[David Lewis Paget]

Hi John, whatever happened to the Magical Mystery volume you were planning a couple of years ago. You collected the poems, then everything went quiet.
David.

[Eric Jameson]

Good poem. Great imagery...Awesome.

[PublishingAgent]

You really can feel the rawness of the mountain in your poem and also your passion for it as well.......this piece is impressive

[John Phoenix Hutchinson.]

Its quite a raw mountain especially in its deep very enclosed ravines an impressive place.

[TrimarcoRansome]

Windemere is close to my heart as you know John, it is a perfect place to play ;-) stunning piece of poetry, I lost myself within it.

[John Phoenix Hutchinson.]

I do believe as you mention about your heart...........if I remember rightly a certain film of a certain story......... that the children had a bit of an adventure @ Low Wood. I think t***y or one of the girls got stung by a bee or something?

[TrimarcoRansome]

Yes, they are all places fondly remembered ;-)

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

Haven't been here, but through your words I feel almost as though I have. Great imagery in this one; you brought to life this place is such stark detail and quality that I wish I was standing in this place delving into the full quiet of eternity. Well done!

[John Phoenix Hutchinson.]

Lovely place such a lovely place :) Thanks

[lothlorienwriter]

I have to say this is a fantastic mountain poem and very........whats the word, evocative yes thats it. I felt a stirring in my loins no not that type....an urge to climb high! Great poem and welcome back John.

[John Phoenix Hutchinson.]

Thanks Mark :)