Watching the river
frogs sit, newts swim, water voles nibble...
A story poem built out of ideas, pictures, words and sudden thoughts collected during workshops run by the Open University in Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum during Glasgow Science Festival 2022.
Words, ideas, comments and troubles
collated by Gordon MacLellan
The River Kelvin
From Kelvinhead to Kilsyth,
Auchinstarry to Kirkintilloch;
Past Torrance and Balmore and Netherton,
Kelvindale to Kelvinside and
The lost wet fields of Kelvinhaugh,
Under arches and aqueducts,
Running clear over gravel redd where the trout spawn,
This river waits for a cool morning and
The promise of visitors.
Stand here,
On a bridge over the river.
Early morning,
The stillness before sunrise, and
A beautiful pink bird wakes the chorus,
While small birds crowd the branches,
Adding their voices to the opening day.
The day’s first bumblebees, first butterflies charm.
The first flies irritate.
Long-legged, a heron stands beside a puddle and watches the water, while
Ripples on the river make circles of colour.
We might walk to the river, or run,
Or take a bus, a train, a bike, a car.
A taxi might bring us to the riverbank,
But after that it is up to us.
And wellies are best for a river-bank walk.
A fish flashes past, a flicker of rainbow light,
Fast as an arrow, fast as a cheetah,
As fast as Sonic the Hedgehog.
Swans swim, watching us
While we watch for salmon.
There is no grass here, no helpful path,
Our feet sink in mud,
Pulling out, squelching, with a gush and a plop.
There is a bridge there, and another, graceful curves with guardian statues.
There are roads and museums and shops and schools and factories.
Up there.
But down here,
A curlew picks her way carefully across the mud.
Swimming in cold water, fish dart in excited shoals.
Wrapped round stones, long weeds reach up from the deep.
Tiny fish, stripy fish, hide in those weeds from fast otters and prowling pike.
Frogs sit, newts swim, water voles nibble,
A riverbank city without any people.
And down here,
On the edge of the water,
We can remember what the river remembers:
Smoke and noise and pollution,
(if we see nymphs we know the river is growing clean),
Shouting and fishing and too many people.
Machines, factories, trains and ships.
But the river sings of older memories,
And a wolf runs through the trees, howling at the moon,
Checking on his handful of curious cubs,
Causing trouble, wandering off, investigating,
Splashing in the river,
Licking the rainbow snails like sweeties.
And older still, the Earth tells us stories.
Not the mud or the water, but the stone beneath our feet,
Remembers dinosaurs, and heavier feet stamping,
The stone holding footprints like ponds for frogs,
Or fingerprints to fossilise,
To remember who walked here once.
The Kelvin runs and keeps running,
For days and weeks and months,
For years and centuries and ages,
Down to the Clyde, out to the sea,
Past tall ships and modern wonders,
And where the water tastes of salt,
The starfish gather in parties, prickly-skinned and smiling.
There are crabs here too,
Red, round crabs and square crabs, green crabs, spiky crabs.
And if we get there,
We should watch for the sharks,
One with gills and one without,
Fast sharks hunting fish.
Barracuda thin and deadly,
Long, lean sharks with sharp teeth and no manners.
There is one fish,
A small fish, a brown fish, a brave fish,
A fierce fish who chases the sharks away,
(Apart from the cool ones who play music on headphone and practice their Jaws moves).
Safe from the sharks,
Fish dance in huge swirling patterns:
Midnight blue and pink, orange and golden fish,
Black fish and spotted fish and bumblebee-striped fish.
If you stand here on the edge of the sea with us,
There are jellyfish now.
The summer jellyfish who will sting your toes,
Wavering past in fluttering shoals, guarding
Mammi Long-legs who sits in a cold pool,
Playing the rivers’ currents like the strings of a harp with her tentacles.
She cradles an axolotl, holding it safe from the fierce world
That would take its smile and end its life.
And when you salute Mammi Long-legs and go further,
Into the wide Firth where Kelvin and Clyde meet the open sea,
You just might see Nate’s huge whale,
Tasting the stories on the city’s rivers.
And taking those stories to the deep sea,
The wide sea,
The wild sea.
Stand here on a bridge and look down at the river
And know that there are stories running down there,
Over the water,
Beside the water,
Under the water,
Lives, adventures,
Mysteries and wonders,
Waiting for someone to listen.
With many thanks to the hundred of people who joined us at Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum on 11th and 12th June for this OU contribution to the Glasgow Science Festival
No comments:
Post a Comment