A poem by Andrew Durling about an imaginary English soldier’s feelings upon first seeing the hills of his home county of Sussex as his boat approaches the English coast.
The nightmare is over at last:
The hills invite me onto their breasts,
To dive into their coombes.
I shall flood my mind with their meanderings.
I shall fill my heart with their green and chalk-white mottlings.
If, if I do this,
if I go on doing this,
perhaps,
in time,
the hills will heal all this heaviness,
this weariness of war.
But, this now, this miracle of nowness is
enough for now:
simply seeing the sensual slopes of this Sussex shore.
Ironic, that it took a war
To make a heaven out the hills of yore.
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