Cretan Cicadas. Poem by Richard Blanch

Welcomewelcomewelcomewelcome
Isn’t that what they’re saying?
Or whatever welcome is in Greek’
Or Minoan
Or Cicada.

‘Welcome back

To the land which is honed
To the bone with the sun’
And the wind, which is
Burnt through with flowers
And with rock and with
Sounding silence.

To the scrape of the furze
And the thrust of the thorns
To the life of the olive

To blueness and greyness
To a pared rind of being
Which is solid through
More than years
And haunted with
Present ghosts

To taste which is peeled
To a stringent honey

To mountains echoing
Caves which delve
- and are Thought.
- are sensation
To a celebration
That has lasted
through suffering
since Minoan gardens.