Hand On The Plough - Heart Lifting Poem by Keith Shorrocks Johnson

[Celebrating the Russian Poet Nahum Korzhavin - a 'translation']

So we plough
Furrow by furrow
Year by year
But we also need to soar.

Let's face it
Sometimes, as he needs to eat,
The poet ploughs on
Just turning old ground

And sits down wearily
Reaching the headland -
But then the heart soars
And he is himself again

As long as the flight of fancy lasts -
Rising up but sinking down
Year by year
Back to ploughing furrow by furrow.

I am not a hunter of prizes
My world is the stubble-field.
If I am boring
There is no shame

I think, hope, thirst to know, seek
Sowing words with warmth and sunlight
And when others plough
I sometimes just stand and watch.

And then I recover my strength
Forgetting my past failures
And want to bring things to fruition
Smoothing my lined brow.

Well - it is clear soaring is a must
Let's fly... But still
Plough year by year
Not neglecting the essentials.