After you’ve negotiated that artfully-conceived <br />sharp elbow bend in the long, grand drive <br />through the fields of its estate, <br />and it hoves into view, <br />you always gasp – this palace <br /> - no, more like a temple with living quarters – <br />set deep in the countryside, yet as sure <br />as one in Athens or in Rome; <br />yet that too is artfully contrived - <br />the slight mound it’s built on, <br />the cunning proportion that magnifies, <br />disguises, with its public face <br />the aptness of a family home; <br />its public rooms so grand, just echoing enough <br />to magnify a public speech; its family rooms <br />smallish, cosy; love and friendliness <br />live here. It says to the world, <br />stability; tradition re-affirmed; yet <br />this is our familiar family home. <br /> <br />It has its rooms, as rooms should be, <br />devoted to each family pursuit: <br />here’s the grand library <br />but here, with books so evidently, lovingly well read; <br />you almost missed the little girl, her hair and knees <br />curled round a book, deep in that leather green armchair; <br />the study, where your breathing seems to change, <br />there’s such a still and living silence here; <br />the nursery that emanates a lifetime’s care; <br />the children’s bedrooms set around it, <br />through which you ran and laughed and ran again; the window seats <br />from which you looked so wistfully <br />as childhood’s assurance faded into teenage questioning; <br />a house to leave, <br />a house to come back to; <br /> <br />a metaphor <br />as living, haunting, as the poetry it is.<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/0012-the-house-of-metaphor/
