Finding Camelot

In this instalment of Unlocking Landscapes, Richard Skerman shares his poem, Finding Camelot. Richard’s verse reflects on a trip to the Forest of Dean in 1976, undertaken towards the end of one of the longest heatwaves for decades. The poem was written after hearing three Japanese poets reacting to a forest on Mt Fuji. Richard also notes “It’s ironic that, while in English Camelot evokes a fairytale kingdom, in French it’s slang for something that’s rubbish.”

Listen using the player above or read in full below. Visit Richard’s website.

Finding Camelot
(The Forest of Dean, Summer, 1976, with thanks to my Japanese cousins*)

I want to get lost in the woods again,
it's been years since I did it before.
My partner drops me off and leaves,
I strike out on my own.

Soon I learn my mistake –
I'm in a nursery of young trees,
there's no trail but a tangle
of dry branches grabbing me.

But I hate going backwards
and persist in pushing on,
it's hot and I am sweating
until my freedom's won.

Then there is some kind of path –
I'm climbing as I walk.
Banks on either side tell me
that this is people's work.

It's clearly an old hill fort
and the map name then explains
the Welsh had lived here in the past
before the Saxons came.

Full-grown trees stand over me
to make a green arcade –
the leaves with sunlight shining through
like jewels there displayed.

It winds me in a spiral
till I reach the central mound.
There I find their majesties
deep rooted in that ground ..

.. an oak and a yew tree
that have for centuries
stood as royal guardians
of this ancient sanctuary.

I'm feeling quite exhausted
and spaced out by the heat,
after fighting through those thickets
this discovery's so neat!

I'm not really all that mystical
but sometimes you confess
that your brain is more sensitive
and surroundings do the rest.

I hug the oak to show my thanks
for finding this refuge.
I'm going to sleep here tonight
and hope they won't refuse.

I roll my sleeping bag out
beneath the yew's dark boughs –
her needles are so soft I know
a better mattress can't be found.

That night there is a pleasant one,
I sleep just like a babe
and next day start my journey
through this forest's wonder maze.

The yew has long been death's own tree,
according to tradition,
but I was happy staying there –
I don't fear superstition.

It felt like I'd found Camelot
that had grown back from the earth
and given me protection
with nature's own rebirth.

I'd like to go and die there
when my time has come,
to join my body to the soil
and let the cycle run.

rs 10.9.18