For a change, not inspired by a walk! I was tuned to BBC Radio 3 yesterday evening; knowing nothing about the contemporary composer Max Richter, I listened to his piece Infra while reading Philip Pullman’s recently published short work Serpentine.
Story finished, I found myself reaching for paper and pencil…
THE TRANCE GATE
11th December 2020
In the Land of Far,
Which is North by mood compass of course,
They always leave the Trance Gate ajar for you:
Neither latched shut nor roped open
So it can – and does – swing in the Dream Breeze.
The Trance Gate, waiting maybe passively
But occasionally with rust-grinding impatience:
Yes, it is sentient – it has feelings as strong as yours,
Can inhale the emotional volatiles of any passing through.
The Trance Gate, only breach in the Sleep Fence:
The crossing,
Invisiblue free and love-loud as rose scent,
Between the The Near Land of Far and the Far Land of Far.
When will you next pass that way again?
Whichever the season, it’s good to go.
How will you next pass that way again?
As just a mood?
Through a wish?
In a laughing, or a crying, or a shouting, or a fidgeting,
Or perhaps a rarelucky caressing dream…?
In a dream of your own?
Or as dreamed by someone else –
And if they never tell you, do you ever know?
© Christopher Jessop 2020
