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The Disappearance Diaries of an Apprentice Hermit

The Disappearance Diaries of an Apprentice Hermit

By: David Swarbrick @ The Ceylon Press
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 From disco to disappearance.Copyright The Ceylon Press 2025 Art Literary History & Criticism Social Sciences
Episodes
  • Pilgrim: Season 1 - 1977-1998.

    Pilgrim: Season 1 - 1977-1998.
    Feb 19 2026
    1 in tight lines a dozen houses line the winter wheat – already: frail bungalows with front lawns, at the village edge; homes, already, transitory as inns, and clamped to a new access road that slices though the down. diggers have quarried the chalk - upended it; torn out the clay beneath -heavy, dark,greasy as abattoir meatembedded with flints,clewingto a long-departed sea. in a web of cul-de-sacs,of silent gardensof chipboard walls history is being forgotten; the land is practicinghow to die. SNODLAND, MARCH 1977 2 clouds clogthe river’s fallen level - a dry dayat the furthest edgeof summer; at the month’salmost-final,almost-end-point, flat and still; indestructible. hay,cropped in silent meadowsrests in long gold lines; the battles to be foughtare far away;nothing is corruptible; now is all there is. THE RIVER BEULT, AUGUST 1977 3 wadein the corn wavesundisturbed; come home -there is no toll; the hip-grasswill conceal and recall; fearing no fall,the dusty greenwill restore the world, its marks, its scars - bring itto a field of sun - to this home,crushed outwithin it. NEAR CRANBROOK, AUGUST 1977 4 of coursethere are grander thingsthan this Victorian rebuildingof medieval stone; but not for me. for eight years i have beenits steadfast visitor, a pilgrim of sorts,returning to a placewhere nothingis urgent; where custom points, like transepts,to the enfoldingfields and woodsfirst written in Doomsday. THE CHURCH OF ALL SAINTS, BIRLING, MARCH 1978 5 amongst the few remaining leavesof last year’s autumn, daffodils shakein a slight breeze; they lord it over the wilderness - the stone angeldrowsy under moss; the mausoleums,rectangular, preoccupied; the crooked tombstones,dreaming of placesother than this; the sleeping columbariaspread betweenthe shot green shavingsof recent trees - defiant,redeeming. BIRLING CHURCHYARD, MARCH 1978 6 winter rainhas darkenedthe hayrick’s sides; nowa nine-hour sunexpands upon it, restores it,saves itwith lengthening days; returning all. SNODLAND, MAY 1978 7 onlyon the roadbetween the trees; onlyon Birling Hilldo i evadethe day; slip the sununder leaf; freewheelon the scarp, believing onlyin Cistern Wood and Coney Shaw,in Stonebridge and Ley; in the fields that flit by, worshipping onlythe swift dark woods, the down’s allegiantoak, and beech, and chestnut - saved by speedeach timei turn intothe ceaseless haze. ON BIRLING HILL, JUNE 1978 8 nowthe cool weaveswhite; the high dayends; the ridgesimplifies; the downlandtightens – a narrow gate,darkly green - trees opento an ageless sky; a time for nightjars, nightingales, sparrowhawks; and i amwashed away. TROTTISCLIFFE, JUNE 1978 9 this is a roadfor sunday walkers,wanderlusterswho go just so far,their communion curtailedby an absence of magic, fitted inbetween reading the papersand lunch, as is customary now. THE SNODLAND TO BIRLING ROAD, JUNE 1978 10 clouds shift; over the hillthe moon swells, the grass,dark this side,lights up - ignites a sudden thoroughfareshowing me the way,night by night,as i cycle sectionsof the old pilgrim road, all difficulties shattered, past fields of clover, cowslip;past Blackbusshe, Badgells Wood, past the Battle of Britain cross,
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    21 mins
  • The Summer Fortress: Season 2 - 1979.

    The Summer Fortress: Season 2 - 1979.
    Feb 19 2026
    TO RA AND REMEMBERING VERITY FORSYTH I hear you still clear, sure - talking to me now as you would talk to me then; a corner of the garden room; a long table laid for tea, books piled up, shadows of poets and painters stirring; listening, as you hear me say what I do not say; as you tell me what I need to hear but would not: I hear you still I hear you now, I hear you. Skona, July 1997 DATEThis cycle of poems was written in the Weald of Kent between March and September 1979; the last one 18 years later in July 1997, in Skona. 1for thisthere is alwaystime -your fragmentary willconcocts hourswhere the dayhas none,etchesa far horizonforeverin the sun. 2take only touchand that electric guess,hand to hand,till heartsrest within flesh;till your touchupon my facemoves inside. 3you would stretch out,draw me apart,for thoughyou do not know ityour timeis mine.would you want more?would you changethe tidethat carries us,sand within a stream,toward the sea?evenly, 4loving you:the picturesafein the cabinet -mine,the dare to remove;the white palmsstick with sweatnow summer comes. 5knives cut -and death's unknowing,cells grow and bones will break,and still,the starting point -your face,ghosts all the change;leaves -silence,a space for shadows;a space to turn within;and lie at bay. 6your cryhollows the hour,touches starsthat won't explode:and break their hold.butcan hurl javelinsup at space 7you may not believe it but,after the battle,rain washed the bloodonto the village streets,into the Weald.night fallson the Bloody Mountain;a bird pullsagainst empty light;bats fold into theoutline of trees,black on black.above usa harvest moonburns a circle in the sky. 8let us stay,smoke awhilewalk between the silver treesof the Cinders track.night holds us;we liebeside a water tank,listening;waterdrippingdrop by dropwaitingwhere nothing movesthe moment on,where nothing moves.where the airis cool and grassy 9your heart is high,sweeping high:tempers,slackens, on again,states of difference -not by joiningI, in love,would move. 10inyour awkward beautythe landscape breatheswith you;I restI play;in skiesthe peacocks fly. 11do not hold back;you should not fearyou shinefor youhave the brightest light;and shineas life. 12come,we will evade this,armour ourselvesas night checks day;and a smooth sly lightslides through the orchards.thelast bird songsdrain the dayinto a shoal of trees.we can evade all this. 13we will become fond of these days;go over them tirelesslyas armchair generalsover maps.we lay downthe living deathlike bottlesin a cellar;effortlessly. 14the abacus movesbut I will not;its beads have a sort of rhythm,a pretended order.do not listen.silence has a safer sound;even calls the directionsof a hidden road,easily missed. 15i 'd rather notthink;or imagine,know,or evensuspect,grieve,celebrate,wonder.I want tolive easy.whyshould I be troubled? 16yoursis the gift that brings together,that calls me inthat keeps me here;your armsopen;your imprinthauntsyour body,is a barrier of words. 17the train passes placeswhere nothing has changed,where life has gone onjust the sameall the timeI have beenso caught up.it will go on the samewhen this ends; 18dailythe state deepensand I concedeto this roundand to thatthe bets I placethe game I play,the cards that fallfar shortof what I make. 19you smile:the knife you wieldopens the knotthe quickest way,I saw youwalking in fields,a dancer,naked,slender as a scorpion.dares alldo you knowwhat we do? 20lost timeis life's regret:death guilds its share,the daysrob and bleed,and timesmashes easily as glass.the calendarbreaks a little more each day. 21love in distance,and,all the timeI knowthat behind mehe kisses you;youdo not knowhis blooded lipssmear and conquer.each returnyou seegets closer. 22you turnyour eyes,catch up my glance;hold itlike a mirror,distortingby allit cannot see. 23he had madea plaything of fear;caught it in the mirrorwith the sun.autumn will rushbefore the Kentish hopsto dredge his glass -and the image,unreflected,noiselessly dies out. 24death kisses you;the offering of sunsgluts in your heart;an unaccounting changeremoves your hand.you wake;but the rage for lifesleeps on. ...
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    11 mins
  • Border Lands: Season 3 - 1981-1983.

    Border Lands: Season 3 - 1981-1983.
    Feb 19 2026
    march 1981 having this, no fantastic hate can rob you; not devils, not warriors, not demons; nor even angels, spying from their steep slopes, nothing, truly nothing can rob you – nor even this town, that has a history of theft and mutilation:the churches empty, the homes neglected the parks choaked with weeds. you do not need to stay.you do not need to pay.april 1981i’ve not wordsenough to say - i saw you walkingon the road today,nor eyes prepared to follow:folly ,prey.may i 1981eclipsing streets,a steady shore,an ordered crashof waves;through sunlight, shafts,marbled cloudsa far, far out horizon,unreachable;unbreachable.may ii 1981i amin envy of love;i am in envyof these two figures strong as the sun.i am in envy.june 1981how far do seas stretch?here, my love;beach, sand, dunes,and rocks, rising, cliffs, rising:we sit, hiddenin stumpyheat-drenched grass;a high hollow,spread with towels, a picnic, cigarettes:and two tight bodiescurled like babesobserving visions.july 1981on this shore – on every shorethe sea rolls, spreads,swobsexpandsexplainsbut we –you and i –we are fastened like limpets.we cannot leave.september i 1981the wavesof last night’s stormlinger, loiterinsistendure: they stir still;they stir now,white, wild, whippingthe heavy sea is not becalmed;it slaps on jetties,smashes the sea walls,breaks up the boats;and we must shelter.september ii,1981i have cometo meet myself again –to catch up.find fault,find favour.it is the same homing, bleak sea,the same empty horizonblotted out by mist.my heart gives into it;beatslike a forbearing tide.october 1981behind me a television towerfeeds the air,feeds a hundred thousandunseen homes;feeds them all, gannetsrazorbills, gulls greedy as Ahabwith a rattle of stodgy voicesi cannot hear,mayday signalsfor the dying dayfor the yearning empty night.november i, 1981november.the pebbles are smooth,grey, oval, wet;they slide,roll,rattle;children gather driftwood;build bonfires.the inlet – south beach - lies under a muscle of white cloud;wheeling waveswhiten,spreada pale disappearing line;we breathe airno city has maintained;i sit on a washed uptree trunkgreatest of all.november ii 1981just above the line thrownby the strongest wave;just at that pointwhere the sand shelves,where it is wet, softer, darkerjust at that point – that is where the people group where the people watch, where they walkthrow stones;the pensioner too,in his fawn coat,we are just at that point – each day,same time, same placebeside the shifting sea.december 1981 hallo there.hey!hallo!i see my faceunder the street light;i see that when this passionhas gonethe shop’s glass window will remainreflecting it all back;everything bloody thingbut hazy, stickywith salt,it is my father confessormy witness to others who walk,like icatching their faces,in this unkind abrupt waylong before they are ready to own up; catching their features too soonin the vast unending night.february 1982 lean mountainsrise seaward,rock on rock;thin fields stretch,taut as canvassthe first lightgilds the couch grassacross Swyddffynnon,fills the hollowsfrom Pontrhydfendigaidto Ystrad Meurigruns goldover Cambria.march i 1982 unspeaking, we’ve watched the daywake and slide unfelt;old room in an empty house.our bodies lie still,unspent;under the huge grey skythere is no trade.march ii 1982 brieflyi remember lying in your lap,my stock against the nightelectrically charged,incriminated;my fingers familiareach contour knownas my own,the warmth and textureof your feckless flesh.april 1982her eyes coilaround a worldi cannot see;in her headare the smiles of friends,and elders,smiling sadly,as they will smilewhen she is dead.may i1982living by the seawe have missed the firstgraffiti of spring,the scrawl of buds on bushthe harsh soft hasty greenthe pebble beach is our park, cold and harduntranslated, unpreserved,seen in flashesmoment by momentwithout memory.childless,parentless.may ii 1982but for thisthere is no other world;this is the magic of your face,the fascination,the hidden sea - waves rearrange the light;currents coil beneathlike massive ropesencrusted with barnacleswrenching the waterdragging it this wayand thatdragging it into a warren of rolling whitecaps.this is the only place for love;this time my heart will take its ancient pathunseen.may iii 1982somewhere, somehow, something will end;just not be there; we’ll wonder why we ever looked;adjoin, ajar,elude, escape – the door will neverclose again.will never.may iv 1982remember that old image of summer;the blooming trees,heavy with green;the flower crowd and scent – someone sittingnear the house; someone playingthe music of old scores on the piano?it never was. get up and go; the door is open.may v 1982i cannot see it in your eyes, the lover, mistress, master - it is only the ocean i see –the eternal cross of lightdimming in the ...
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    24 mins
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