We're lucky to have Helen Denerley's wonderfully muscular gander here in the gallery, just as his flesh and blood cousins are beginning their long flight south.
This poem, by Jane Mead, captures their flight as well as Denerley's sculpture does their form.
The Geese
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| Gander by Helen Denerley |
slicing this frozen sky know
where they are going—
and want to get there.
Their call, both strange
and familiar, calls
to the strange and familiar
heart, and the landscape
becomes the landscape
of being, which becomes
the bright silos and snowy
fields over which the nuanced
and muscular geese
are calling—while time
and the heart take measure.
and want to get there.
Their call, both strange
and familiar, calls
to the strange and familiar
heart, and the landscape
becomes the landscape
of being, which becomes
the bright silos and snowy
fields over which the nuanced
and muscular geese
are calling—while time
and the heart take measure.
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