Kathy Maves on tue 19 mar 02
Janet,
Thanks for the great poem! It reminds me of the
recent thread on digging your own clay, and another
poem:
The soils I knew ran dirty. River sand
Was the one clean thing that stayed itself
In that slabbery, clabbery, wintry puddled ground.
Until I found Bann clay. Like wet daylight
Or viscous satin under the felt and frieze
Of humus layers. The true diatomite.
Discovered in a little sucky hole,
Grey-blue, dull-shining, scentless, touchable--
Like the earth's old ointment box, sticky and cool.
From "To a Dutch Potter in Ireland" by Seamus Heaney
Thanks again.
Kathy
Barronett, WI
kathymaves@yahoo.com
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