Why Olwen Fouéré chose this poem
I first came across this poem when I was about 10 years old. It may have been in a school poetry book. It speaks to me now as it spoke to me then, when a fire is in my head, burning with questions and yearnings, before an idea or a vision or a love is born. The vision calls to us, appearing only for a moment, and then she slips away like a fish into the streams of the Milky Way. Every journey we make to find her will be worth it, but we will never hold her for longer than a moment. Except, maybe, in our death.
Olwen Fouéré is an actor and creative artist
The Song of Wandering Aengus
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
