Passed down from the 15th century, the Paston Letters reveal the ins and outs of everyday life more than half a millennium ago. In this hand-made book, local artists and poets respond to the letters and to the times revealed in them. The book is sponsored and published by the Paston Heritage Society with the assistance of InPrint, the visual arts and poetry collaborative group. 

HERE  IS  THE  BOOK

Here on the edge of a drowned world
land of the True Cross
we walk on the moon, dark side,
among marbled pillars
touching unearthly colours
dusty passages
fingering forgotten legends

Treasure buried in the priory
where foreign knights battle secretly
against skeletons
and in the Kingdom of God
near Bromholm
the dead are raised

Iron stands like spears against the sun
while stone dissolves

As in the beginning
the word breathes on
until the void takes form
becomes a sacred, fertile field

Visions of Hildegard or Agnes in the rain
play dark tricks
as the world folds into paper,
holding on

Ruins bought and sold
breathe again
words emerge from the rock:
locks are broken

Burning kingfishers perch on fallen walls:
paths burst from the undergrowth

Here on the edge of the moon
Here is the book
Here are the letters thrown down and lifted up
Here the rushing wind
fire and water
laid like a cloth of gold and silver
under the patient stars

Tim Lenton

LATIN COMPLINE, 2008

Pulling back night’s blanket
and piercing deep dark February,
figures flit down forgotten paths
to an ancient, holy place

where secrets hide
behind the mud and gravestones

Inside, candles like fallen stars
frame long-lost rites
out of that other world

Iube, Domine, benedicere:
footsteps pass the font

Cold stone carries memories:
a knife through time

Tim Lenton

BLUE DAYS, BLACK KNIGHTS

The knight's move
but the king's game:
glory and valour
pleasing to the fairest of ladies

Not forgetting the bishops
and the birds of prey:
shape-shifters, disguisings,
castles and queens

Jousting is not for pawns:
unarmed, eyes front,
they construct the scenery
backdrop to romance
and death

The game's the thing:
art on the hoof
with a thrust, a sacrifice,
a twist
in the final act

Tim Lenton

SCRATCHED

scratching our way across the page
we feather our nests
with stories
of worms caught and eggs laid
and life - its mud and glories

Lisa D'Onofrio

PROVENANCE

Dear cousin, preening, proud,
how well you know the good stuff,
the way it will take
the cut, the line, the fall,
not just its weight
but the feel of it, its cost
and its quantity.
Two ells of Worsted for doublets
to keep out winter’s cold,
and I need to know
the provenance of the tippet
of finer cloth, as smooth
and soft as silk.
So others will get
the measure of this man;
by the cut of his cloth
they will know him.
For money will be
no object where style
and fashion count.
And this is more
than comfort, it’s dash
and peacock pride
and Norfolk’s vainglory.

Kay Riggs

Right reverent and worshipful husband,

I have no gown to wear
this Winter
but my black and green
and I am weary of it
I have real need of a girdle
the same one I asked you to get
ages ago
For I have grown so shapely
I only have one
that still fits
The midwife has gone off
with the sciatica
but she has sent word
she will get here
when my time comes
though she may be wheeled in a barrow
Please wear the St Margaret ring I sent
for remembrance
As you have left me such a memorial
that I think about you both day and night
when I would sleep,

yours, your M.P

Lisa D'Onofrio

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