He knew the North Country <br />before it was knowable, <br />when roads hid their objects <br />in height, water, wood. <br /> <br />The names and nuances <br />of farmland artifacts <br />accent of bird and hill <br />and broken wall. <br /> <br />Wild rivers swirling <br />down dead-end tracks, <br />all secrets local, <br />deep in the country's soul, <br /> <br />Brough, Blanchland, Bellingham, <br />pubs round the crossroads, <br />clergymen with theories, <br />hamlets with their hold. <br /> <br />All were grist to him <br />who would travel the byways <br />and return to Newcastle <br />with discovered things <br /> <br />made by people for use <br />for themselves and others, <br />invented, created <br />dalehead fairings <br /> <br />or imported porcelain, <br />implements, crockery, <br />carved wood and sewn silk, <br />rugs, crooks, horn, <br /> <br />swords, farm vessels, <br />beakers and brooches, <br />indigenous pieces <br />of character and charm, <br /> <br />Frank Graham, publisher <br />of chapbooks and histories <br />travelling the dales to make <br />North Country knowable, <br /> <br />fast roads and cameras <br />followed him lately to <br />Brough, Blanchland, Bellingham. <br />In that rough countryside <br /> <br />who can lay down the law <br />what things are beautiful? <br />Antiques and furniture <br />high on his list, <br /> <br />as carpets of berries <br />made red spattered pathways, <br />as round yellow celandines <br />shone through the mist, <br /> <br />he heard the confessions <br />of Brough, Blanchland, Bellingham, <br />beckside and watercourse, <br />dusty dry rose, <br /> <br />he knew the North Country <br />before it was knowable, <br />late words spoken <br />by a hedge fulll of sloes <br /> <br />[2007]<br /><br />Sally Evans<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/frank-graham-s-north-country/
