Over the stone rushes the wind
Able to mingle with nothing
Like the hearing of the blind stone itself.
Or turns, as if the stone’s mind came feeling
A fantasy of directions.
– Ted Hughes, Pilbroch.
Itinerant through numerous domains, of his lord’s retinue, to Compostela. Then home for a lifetime amid West Mercia this master-mason as I envisage him, intent to pester upon typanum and chancel-arch his moody testament, confusing warrior with lion, dragon-coils, tendrils of the stony vine.
– Geoffrey Hill, Hymn XXIV, Mercian Hymns.
(Seamus Heaney, ‘Now and in England’, Critical Inquiry, 3 (1977), pp. 471-488.)
Ground – Craft – Town. Ways of healing.