Kings Knot (Stirling Castle) Poem by Sally Evans
Kings Knot (Stirling Castle)
This is a parterre, much larger
than what you think of as a “knot, ”
smaller pattern of line and colour.
Call it the King's Knot
and it seems grand enough.
Look down at the ground,
there trace bronze rosettes,
red-coated sage, spiked aloe,
tulip helmets in shiny rows,
dark blue bugles.
A front field, extravagant,
military and aggressive,
equal to Windsor, a match
of Dutch and Parisian grounds,
answer to Versailles.
Remember Drummond's land
by Drummond Castle,
a rival too near, in Perthshire,
their garden glories
wasted in uncouth wilds.
This is is a parade ground
meant for defence – no horse
could fast cross these obstructions –
box hedges, stone ledges,
cut pools, earth crenelations.
Look down from rock wall height
and watch the townsfolk
keop their place, never walk across
this low sited precinct: and yet –
it does not become a garden.
Wild flowers deride it,
fair maids in February,
cowslips in June, random
milkmaid and mouse-ear grow
out of line, out of order.
Unprotected, let it fall
back to the plain, except
for this raised geometry.
A common road will slype the corner.
This is the King's Knot.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 6:03:06 PM # 1.0.0.1119
