This early poem by Norman MacCaig (dated January 1953) displays his customary charm with its rollcall of farm and wild life.

His last verse adds a dimension of complexity to the scene he describes. The piece can be found in the great posthumous volume of his poems, edited by his son Ewen (Polygon).

SUMMER FARM

Straws like tame lightnings lie about the grass

And hang zigzag on hedges. Green as glass

The water in the horse-trough shines.

Nine ducks go wobbling by in two straight lines.

A hen stares at nothing with one eye,

Then picks it up. Out of an empty sky

A swallow falls and, flickering through

The barn, dives up again into the dizzy blue.

I lie, not thinking, in the cool, soft grass,

Afraid of where a thought might take me - as

This grasshopper with plated face

Unfolds his legs and finds himself in space.

Self under self, a pile of selves I stand

Threaded on time, and with metaphysic hand

Lift the farm like a lid and see

Farm within farm, and in the centre, me.