Amit Chakrabarti · 28 January 2000

For scrabblers, here’s a dictionary based annotation of the poem. After all, a poem
with a vocab# like this is asking for it! Explanation for the ignorami$ reading this:

A word ending in ‘$’ is acceptable only in the U.S. dictionary (OSPD). A word ending in ‘#’ is acceptable only in the British dictionary (OSW).

A word ending in ‘*’ is acceptable in neither. An unmarked word is acceptable in both.

Okay, here we go:

backroad* leafmold* stonewall chipmunk underbrush grapevine woodchuck shadblow

woodsmoke* cowbarn* honeysuckle woodpile sawhorse bucksaw outhouse wellsweep*

backdoor$ flagstone bulkhead buttermilk candlestick ragrug* firedog brownbread*

hilltop outcrop cowbell buttercup whetstone thunderstorm pitchfork steeplebush$

gristmill$ millstone cornmeal$ waterwheel watercress buckwheat firefly jewelweed

gravestone groundpine* windbreak bedrock weathercock snowfall starlight cockcrow$

I believe one may safely conclude that the author is American!

Martin DeMello · 20 August 2002

In response to an observation that the poem “Draws a picture. But doesn’t move me.”…

Hm - I liked it. First off, I love compound words, both real and invented - they seem so much more evocative than the corresponding separated pairs (e.g. ‘watersmeet’, ‘starseed’, ‘heartsease’). Also, the poem itself (in conjunction with the title, which I think was an important part in that it gave you a hint as to how to read the rest) conjured up images of a quiet walk down a country lane, when the world seems empty of the sounds and sights of civilisation, and you notice all sorts of things you never would have otherwise. Reading the poem, I could feel all the little details being painted in around me, bringing the scene to life. Moving in a contemplative sort of way, to say nothing of the thrill I got from seeing the concept pulled off.