I am the boundary,
the great, soaring landscape;
my country’s spine.
I am the lifeblood,
coursing from hill to sea
teeming with hope.
I am the old bricks
that stretch from coast to coast,
conquered by sods.
I am the island
and the vanishing road
to history.
I am the slipway,
that launched the floating ghosts
they forged from pride.
I am the magpies,
flapping and desperate
for shiny things.
I am the crossing
built to outlast you all
and show the world.
I am the resource
- that blackened face and name -
she undermined.
I am the icon
of expressionless face:
scorned, lauded then loved.
I am the great mill,
the high and low-level
and the white arc.
I am the warm wit,
the well-meant honesty
and the steel core.
I am all of this.
I am the North.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem