“Little Evening Lily” is complete!

Aandpypie (Gladiolus liliaceus), 19 October 2018. Copyright 2018 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
The wildflower, Gladiolus liliaceus. Taken 19 October 2018.

“To a Wild Flower”, previously “Little Evening Lily”, is complete! What began as a single sketch—an ode to my beloved Gladiolus liliaceus in all its incarnations—has blossomed into three separate poems: I. “Lovely Wayside Lily”, II. “There Is No Other Lily . . .” and III. “Wondrous Afrikaner”.

As expected, it took four months to develop the three variations, each dwelling in short and simple lines upon those aspects of the flower that charm me most. I am content that I have poured into the stanzas my naïve appreciation of the flower’s beauty and eagerly await September that I may recite to it my laudations.

Next, I shall develop “The Wind!”, a sketch outlined in November 2018, one of several compositions on the titular theme. Wild flowers, birds, beasts, hills, fields and the wind: these move me to verse! For the moments when they leave me speechless, I write poems bursting with praise.

Poetry Publication Progress (2021-03-13)

On Inspiration and Execution

Buteo buteo, 8 January 2021. Copyright 2021 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Buteo buteo, the Common (or Steppe) Buzzard. Photographed 8 January 2021.

Buzzards, Swallows and Swifts

It is high summer in South Africa, and buzzards are a frequent sight—solitary raptors perched on posts at the waysides. Some take flight at the slightest disturbance, but others are unhindered, stilly surveying the scene.

There are also swallows and swifts on the wing, low over the fields and dirt roads. Whilst the buzzard gazes intently at the grasses below, they feed on flying insects—a spectacle for any who will stop to admire it.

It is sights such as these that compel me to labour at poetry in its traditional sense, to assemble rhyming stanzas that delight in the rural scenes about me—compositions as joyful and simple as the countryside they extol.

A buzzard with swallows and swifts, 8 January 2021. Copyright 2021 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Hirundo dimidiata, Pearl-breasted Swallows, and most likely Apus apus, Common Swifts (possibly A. barbatus, African Black Swifts), feeding as B. buteo looks on. Also photographed 8 January 2021.

Writing Steady and Slow

That said, this month past, I have done little writing, using the time to rest and reflect upon my progress in poetic and professional life. In both, I have become convinced that a qualitative approach suits me best.

Therefore, I shall continue my current pace, taking as much time as my compositions require. In this anthology, there are nine unfinished sketches, excluding the “Little Evening Lily” set I am currently developing.

If, as is typically the case, I spend a month on a poem, that should see the compositional part of the anthology completed by the end of the year. I shall then spend a few months more preparing for its publication.

FF_WP_Posts_Poetry-Progress_2021-01

Developing “Little Evening Lily”

Gladiolus liliaceus, 12 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
The reddish-brown variant of Gladiolus liliaceus—also known as the Aandpypie (Afrikaans, “Little Evening Pipe”), Ribbokblom (Afrikaans, “Rhebok-flower”) or Large Brown Afrikaner—its petals still tinged with purple, the colour it assumes at sundown with a mesmerising scent to attract pollinators, often until late morning. Photographed 12 September 2020.

Four separate poems are emerging from the “Little Evening Lily” sketch. They are variations on the same theme, born from the many stanza experiments whilst developing the composition.

It should come as no surprise that there is such an outpouring of verse on the subject—the lily in question, Gladiolus liliaceus, is my favourite flower1—but, I am nonetheless amazed.

I am also intimidated, as I wonder whether the four poems will be worthy of their subject, and frustrated, as this further delays the anthology’s completion (likely by four months, given my pace)2.


  1. If I might do a little introspection: I associate Gladiolus liliaceus with the joy of my mother in spring (September to November in my country, South Africa) when it appears in the wild. Moreover, it evokes the happiest time of my childhood at age eight and nine in the Babilonstoring Valley—of which I have written before in “This September”, “This October”, “This November” and “A Return to the Valley”—when I recall her displaying the lilies on the kitchen table of the little labourer’s cottage we inhabited at the time, its intoxicating fragrance filling the room at night.
  2. I typically spend a month on a poem.