Rivers

A poem by Peter Hughes

Rivers

after immeasurably
short distances downstream
you can’t tell which is
the oldest water in the river
the tributaries  rain & 
seepage are all lost      
in the sense of found
as the river approaches its name
headstreams sometimes merge
or at least run briefly parallel
but many strike out in
opposite directions
even though they start
a spit apart
          rivers wear away
carry & let slip
their odour changes like your own
it’s rarely home cooking
the water changes & makes
& changes the land
            America is being lowered
a yard every 30,000 years
by every style of surface water
but it is also being raised
by other kinds of bullshit
some of which are known as
isostatic compensation
            eventually everywhere
becomes a peneplain
which is like a level
playing field only bumpy
& level only in theoretical models
but never seen
except in certain
Hampshire camp sites
           steepness varies alarmingly
& rejuvenation may occur
at any time
depending on where
the monkey-gland man
torches his van
          polycyclic relief
is the shape of
everyone’s profile
who has ever
dipped a finger
into water
         I knew an interfluve
who could stand up
for no more than two hours
at a time
I now know this is true
of everyone
except certain sentries
who are mainly Hirst installations
which distract attention
from the purpose
of the building in the background
           it is important
not to irritate academics
when you talk
or write about rivers
& the water heading that way
covers all the land
it patters into heather
& on rock
& sheep & your cagoule
the bus shelter
Mazdas & corgis
snug blazers
loose hoods
loose molls & wardens
bridges         piazzas
railway tracks
service stations    buds
tree branches
fallen leaves
extensions        sheds
outhouses         pubs
water butts
well-rotted organic
matter in allotments
municipal borders
ferry terminals
ponds          runways
playgrounds   
umbrellas
sports fields   
building sites
window boxes
graves
on its way
to the river
          before tethering your goat
for long periods
like that long weekend
in Barcelona
from November to March
or before attaching
a mill wheel
to your caravan
check seasonal variations
in the flow of your river
         & while a spring
may seem delightfully
straightforward
bear in mind
springs slowly
eviscerate
their site & eat
backwards into bone

© Peter Hughes, 2008