Letters to garden makers

Dear Monty, Anselm Kiefer www.royalacademy.org.uk/exhibition/anselm-kiefer?  wanted to be Jesus - this was his ambition as a Catholic boy growing up in the bombed out streets of post war Germany. Later he realised that he couldn't be Jesus - none of us can. He struggled with his and our inconsistencies - he saw the two sides of ourselves. The burning burns into my head  A sickening blackness Sometimes a bright furious flame Flames of passion Or a dull smouldering Ash that fills nostrils and mouth Smothering And dulling thoughts to a numb sleep. Creativity bursts out God speaks A voice from inside  One that I hardly recognise The start was explosive The void occupied with matter That cooled and cools still 'The wise understand the destruction' 'The power of the holy people will be broken' The cooling of the core The turning of years The degradation of life Wars are inevitable We struggle to maintain boundar...

Dear Monty, I was delighted that James Golden of  FEDERALTWIST.COM  posted some episodes of  - 'Around the World in 80 Gardens'. It was a revelation to see you in your element enthusing about what gardens do and what they are for, without the restrictions placed on you as a presenter of GW. James' garden is a gem - or at least I believe it is from the images I see posted on his blog. This of course does not count as a objective view because I have never seen it in the flesh, much like we have never seen Longmeadow in the flesh. It must have been a great privilege to visit all of those gardens - one which stays with you - or does it ? Do elements stay with you and get translated into your own garden - or do the memories just fade ? I'm not sure why, but my life is sometimes overwhelmed by the sense of the brevity of it - this is the curse of being human in middle age - we operate detached from the sense of the now - we look back and we look forward. This mor...

Dear Monty, Where is home ? We all need to belong -to be anchored in some way. The colours in the low sun intensify and anchor me in this coal-mined garden. The hens shine red against the black shed guarded by the one-eyed cat. The pines in the park are blue needled against the sky Arches of gold behind. The arc of the Darren mountain is in shadow Silver white birch stems shine in the gully This scruffy woodland a barrier between the cut of road below. The blue kitchen frames the garden One vista But there are others opening up New sight lines New ideas to be exploited. Paul

Dear Monty, Sad to see the farewell from Longmeadow, its nice to get outside in someones garden - even if virtually but I suspect that you don't want to show us bare trees and bones. I've been enslaved indoors fixing the kitchen - a task that I have been putting off for some time mainly due to my poor carpentry skills. The garden has been neglected, as well my paintings. So here are a few photographs of a neglected garden - the truth is it is a mess - but even mess can be beautiful. I'm sorry to show these pictures - must be getting boring now. Paul

Dear Monty, Storms. The dog sleeps with me At the end of my bed I snore And so does he We cancel each other out Sue sleeps undisturbed in her bedchamber Red and sunlit View over the mountain Toff and I walk the coal tip We admire unintended artworks formed by dumped builders rubble Brick and roof tile cairns Like graves of ancients We stroll around the old cemetery at the top of the hill Graves subsumed by brambles and ash trees We stop and watch the piglets in the field I find the grave of a former neighbour Laid to rest last year She visited parts of this world I will never see Now her remains lie here In this damp plot Already becoming entangled in brambles We are soon forgotten Ebola continues to kill the poor I go out and rake up leaves The clouds move fast Sunlight hits the hills in the distance ------------------------- 29 years together We strolled around through Herefordshire mists The gentle rolling...

Dear Monty, Grayson Perry as quoted in the Guardian magazine yesterday said that; 'Britain has the toad of irony sitting on it ' Making things that represent actual places or people are no longer valid in this 'contemporary' world. But October clears the air. Leaves crisply fall The light thins to a watery silver-gilt Blue eyes like crystal shine in it I must live on the other side of the valley The consuming passion consumed Leaving entrails in the wood The chainsaw rasps of dirt bikes And the whiff of petrol fumes Hang in the thin air Reds russets golds and yellows Trees reveal their shape Branches are lopped to reveal views The mountain turns gold I heed the rules The guide was consumed by them Before devouring my disobedience He swallows it down whole And creates a rest deeper than the roots of this mountain Deeper than any coal black hell ----------------------------- Here I sit with Ted Hughes and Shelley And the ...

Dear Monty, Leaves glow like stained glass. There is a warmth to Autumn that despite the thinning and falling - creates a sense of joy - berries and pine scents  - honeysuckled gloaming. The garden rescues me again from rabid thoughts - toxic attitudes - negativity. Cleaning up leaves raking the thinning grass I begin to see structure sparking new plans. The architecture of artemisia lactiflora begs division and multiplication. The newly revealed beds cry out for a mix of plants to form a block of differing height and texture. The evening draws in - my minds eye draws new spaces and new structures - planes and hollows. Trees to cut back - revelations. Paul