Imaginary Travels into the Landscape

Have you ever smelled something and your brain immediately transports you into a memory? Perhaps it takes you back to your childhood bedroom, or maybe it’s the soapy fragrance of your nan’s living room. Over the course of May and June, writers across the Brecks have been harnessing this link between the senses and our imaginations to write landscape-inspired poems.

We have listened to birdsong and the trickling of rivers, sniffed the nice smell of elderflower and the not-so-nice smell of wood sage, felt the bark of the scots pine and the whorl of a snail shell, and allowed our senses to transport us into the heaths, beneath the trees and beside the river. And, as we followed our imaginations, we charted our journeys on the page, creating list poems.

All of this is inspired by a writer, from over 100 years ago, who spent his life walking the Brecks and recording what he saw. WG Clarke was fascinated by everything he encountered in this region, from the wildlife to the towns, from the archaeology to the farming practices. And, because he wrote so much about what he saw, he has provided us with a perfect window into what the Brecks was like 100 years ago in his iconic book, In Breckland Wilds.

Sometimes we think writing something about our every day lives wouldn’t be interesting to anyone else, or there’s no real value in recording details that seem mundane to us. However, to someone outside of your reality, whether that’s because they live on the other side of the world or 100 years in the future, it can be fascinating.

So, writers across the Brecks have created their list poems, infused with their own feelings and experiences of the landscape, and we will be gathering to celebrate nature and creativity on the 5^th of July, on In Breckland Wilds Day and sharing some of our writing.

Here is one list poem, written by Terri Grant during one of our workshops:

Wandering the Brecks

The barely audible murmur of the lark, circling above, echoes through the distorted conifer plantations: Humming, meandering, rustling in the breeze. Tiptoeing along the scented path, the fresh citrus aroma of yellow gorse wafting, mixed with pungent elderflower, the earthy, woody forest floor crunching underfoot; disturbing the bruised prickly sweet chestnut husks. Steeping olfactory perception: drifting. Colloquially. The taste of the fresh morning dew rising, palpable in the air. A robust Egyptian goose feather agile in the cloying wind, wanders. Its tiger stripes following Blaschko’s patterned lines; zephyrs catch in the fronds whisking it high into the air before cascading gracefully and settling in the briar.