The Chalice Well by Giles Watson's poetry and prose
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<b>The Chalice Well</b>
The earth itself is a kind of grail.
There is no quest: only a delving
Through roots and loam. Arthur
Himself found it, at his burial.
Water wells up out of ground,
Blood-coloured, tasting
Of swords. Leaves fall into
The Vesica, drift around
On earth-currents, gather
Rust. The water seeps
Deeper underground,
Grows in power,
Squirts out of a lion’s mouth,
Fills glasses above
The brim, whets pilgrims,
Gushes forth,
Turns into blue spirits
Dancing over pebbles,
Cold as agony – cleanses,
Heals, absolves, spurts
Like hope, or living luck,
As if the charm itself could break
Out of every crack
And orifice of rock.
<b>Poem by Giles Watson, 2012.</b> The Chalice Well , on a small hillside beneath Glastonbury Tor, gushes with water at the rate of 25, 000 gallons per day, and has not ceased to do so for at least two thousand years. It is reputedly the place where the Holy Grail is hidden (Arthur himself, it is claimed by some, was buried in the grounds of Glastonbury Abbey), and the well itself is lidded with a well-cover designed by Frederick Bligh Bond, in the form of a Vesica Piscis. The water contains generous quantities of iron oxide, giving it a reddish hue and a blood- or rust-like taste. Perhaps this was enough to encourage the legend which insists that Joseph of Arimathea left the grail at this place, still sticky with the blood of the crucifixion.
<i>For Jeannie.</i>
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