Cider Story

A daughter now for her blinded sire in England
Pronounces the Greek and Hebrew which she cannot understand,
Or carries him cider, along the whitewashed hall.

I hear her candid voice approaching, skirts on flagstones,
And it strikes me that, at twenty shillings a litre,
Cider is still, just about, affordable.

It is middle morning, one of those apple forenoons
Which make the fairest lineaments of England. I decide so
In my darkness, then return to my rigid black questions:

What kind of chair is this? Who released it from the native oak
With my person attached and set it down upon limestone?
The rhetorical pavement echoes the courteous step

Of my cool but resented dryad, who carries me cider,
Whose voice I detect in the apple-green light by the wall:
"Tis good for thee,' she comes trilling in consolation.
'And drink it up, now, that shall take thy mind off thy dole.'


from The Classical Farm (Bloodaxe, 1987), © Peter Didsbury 1987, used by permission of the author and the publisher

Recordings

Peter Didsbury

Peter Didsbury Reading from His Poems

1The Experts

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2Back of the House

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3A White Wine for Max Ernst

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4The Autumn

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5Bard

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6The Drainage

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7In Britain

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8Venery

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9A Winter’s Fancy

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10The Classical Farm

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11The Pierhead

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12Cider Story

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13A Shop

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14The Hailstone

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15The Barn

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16Hare’s Run

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17The Restoration

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18The Shore

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19The Old Masters

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20That Old -Time Religion

21At Her Grinding Stone

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22Common Property

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23A Bee

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24Spade

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25Elegiac Alternatives

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26Owl and Miner

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27A Natural History

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28Coasts of Africa

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29The Green Boy

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30Victorian Angels

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31Words at Wharram Percy

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16That Old Time Religion

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Books by Peter Didsbury