Minoan- Reading And Writing Landscape Poem by Richard Blanch

Olive groves- they were here then, underleaf
Silver flickering dark gloss in the breeze:
What’s beneath often surprises what’s above.
Lemon tress, three and a half thousand years
Since, on the other hand, were not. Pity-
That flower’s Melissa sweetness in the nose,
The fruit’s sharp sticky stroking of the tongue
Would have suited them with their oils, iris-
Scented, pine-resin wine. And the citrus
Yellow lamps in the orchard
Easing the season.
Now in early evening,
Great lumpy insects, consolidated
Clumsiness, thump into my side, against
My head: cicadas, surely, must have made
Minoan days noisy, outlined the quiet
Humour of evening eyes catching the same
Sickle moon. Tight-waisted elegant joy
Would have relished the clarity of contrast.

Up above, green and stone mounds and foothills,
Rounded mountains: belly, breasts and thighs are
Lying in the land, waiting for worship.
Over there, the sea, which brought the bright
People, which gave them their trade and their bronze
Sighs past bees and rock-flowers, scattered, scarred blocks:
Much lies encrypted round me as I
Walk the dusty road on the way to the
Palace- the Temple- the Centre- which? Here-
Grey and blue the stone, patterned underfoot,
Red and cream and yellow the walls, standing
Roofless. It’s a great grange, a broad comfort,
A courtyard of bull-leaps, a cosy shrine-
Or does my desire breed its needs, inscribe
The stone with wishes., the heart’s imprinting?
Malia was Tarmara, was Milatos-
Does anybody know? That encryption
Retains its secrets. Finger the thick disc
Of sandstone, trace its circle or circles-
A gaming board? An offering table?
Laughter and gambling? Fruits, berries and wheat,
Figs (no lemons) ? Do fingers think they guess?
Gusts of soft air carry the mild sea-sound.
Let the mind’s grasp relax and the problem
Fall. Look up and hear what the foam’s saying-
Peace and loss, loss and peace, this is gone, this remains.