I got to church this morning to find a real life organist playing. The lady who we now refer to as our deputy organist plays the karaoke machine for us and this morning she had a treat waiting for after the service. She had set a poem to music and was singing it beautifully. I recognised the words. The poem was written by a Polish lady whose daughter still lives in the village.
Here it is.
St Just in Roseland by Zofia IInska
This is the place where the dead are moored
To everlasting buoys beside the boats
The Creek is everywhere. The church floats
Like a sea bird whose neck is the tower
Flight of the herons to Turnaware
Bird country. Boat country
This is the place where the boats are moored
Beside the Churchyard in green canvas dressed
The dead sleep feet pointing East.
The seagull cries, voices wet and windy
Growth, vegetation, stillness, beauty
Sea country, water country.
The church is the Ark. I am NOah
Here I would save the seabirds first The Hill
leans back, dark free ,wide open,
Although for centuries, layer on layer
Cornishman, foreigner are laid here
Cormorant country, curlew country
Patterns of line assail me, the vertical
as the line of life, masts, trees, I
still vertical, perpendicular. Boats lie
Like bodies of the dead. Horizontal.
Correct posture for sailing off to eternal
Time country. God country.
Sorry for the length. It gives a picture of the church as it still is....beautiful..