Tuesday 1 March 2022

Thor Sørheim: 'Skara Brae, Orknøyene'


 

SKARA BRAE, THE ORKNEY ISLANDS

 

The sea rolls with a hard hand,

a fist of gravel, two waves

of sand, and streaks its way past

like a soaking-wet dog. A small village 

 

has for thousands of years held on tight

like pebbles. Here they fished, multiplied

and drew figures with a sharp flint

while the cattle stood outside lowing all night.

 

In low, darkness-filled rooms, wall to wall with the sea,

they found room for rows of plates and inside privies.

From a distance the houses look like pretzels, a bagatelle

that disappeared in the breakers long ago.

 

But the storm rolls with a hard hand,

a fist of gravel, two waves

of sand, an abandoned village returns

after thousands of years when humans 

 

have lived on the mainland without hearing the sea

rushing through the bones. I am standing knee-deep

in the Stone Age, and friends on the phone complain

that the connection is bad, are you without coverage,

 

they ask concernedly, while fingering nervously

with the vulnerable web we all love.

And I assure them that precisely here the waves

break through the time barrier with wonder and crashing.

 

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