Remy Dean: The Stars, at Our Feet

Summary

The website content discusses Remy Dean's poetic exploration of the connection between the celestial and terrestrial realms, particularly in the context of Snowdonia's dark skies and its historical iron industry, as part of his residency at Plas Tan y Bwlch.

Abstract

Remy Dean, during his tenure as Writer in Residence at Plas Tan y Bwlch in Snowdonia, sought to commemorate the region's designation as an International Dark Sky Reserve. He found a poetic nexus between the cosmos and the earth through the element iron, which is both a stellar byproduct and a significant component of the local landscape. Ancient iron deposits in Maentwrog, utilized since the Bronze Age, and a chance discovery of an anonymous poem and sketch from 1889 about miners emerging to see the stars reflected in puddles, inspired Dean. This inspiration led to a series of photographs capturing the cosmic resemblance in the iron-stained slate paths walked by quarriers, symbolizing the intertwined fates of humanity and the cosmos.

Opinions

Remy Dean values the poetic and symbolic connection between the celestial bodies and the earth, particularly through the element iron.
The historical significance of iron in Maentwrog, from its Bronze Age discovery to its role in ushering in the Iron Age, is highly regarded by the author.
The discovery of an anonymous poem and sketch is seen as a serendipitous and evocative find that encapsulates the relationship between the miners and the night sky.
The author appreciates the natural beauty of Snowdonia's dark skies and sees them as a source of inspiration and a link to the broader universe.
The iron and mineral stains in the slate paths are perceived by Dean as analogous to deep space nebulae, demonstrating his view of the interconnectedness of the micro and macrocosms.

Remy Dean on ‘The Stars, at Our Feet’

As Writer in Residence at Plas Tan y Bwlch, Maentwrog, I was seeking to celebrate the Snowdonia National Park being designated the world’s tenth International Dark Sky Reserve in 2015, and searching for a suitably poetic link between the sky and the land.

Iron : forged in the hearts of stars, gifted to the universe upon their deaths. More plentiful than any other metal. It is in our blood. It is in the land. The acid waters from the high, peated moorland carried the iron down to deposit it as pans of bog-iron in the extensive marshlands that once surrounded the village of Maentwrog. This iron was discovered and worked by the ancient smiths of the Bronze Age, ushering in a new Age of : Iron.

Whilst I was delving into the extensive archives of the house, I came across a box of uncatalogued bits and pieces. There were assorted old photographs, newspaper cuttings, garden planting plans, hunting itineraries, along with old sales slips and receipts from the Oakley Quarries at Cwmorthin. On the back of one sales slip, dated 1889, was an anonymous poem and a tiny sketch. A scan is shown above, along with a graphologist’s report.

It was a naïve, yet highly evocative, poem about miners spending their shift underground during a terrible storm that threatened to flood the shafts. When they safely return to the surface, they find the storm has blown over to reveal the clear star-strewn night. Bent and bowed from their toil as they trudge back to their barracks, they see their heavy work boots splash through the puddles, the ripples mixing the reflections of the stars with their own. I append my transcript of the poem, below.

When photographing these slate paths, I noticed iron and mineral stains in the huge slabs that would have been mined and split by such quarriers. These ‘rust stains’ reminded me of deep space nebulae, and the tiny chips and scratches left by hob nail boots provided the starscapes. I had found my poetic link…

I append my transcript of the poem, below.

Remy Dean

And when we rise The clouds sit as a leaden lid Upon the valley we descend Until our sky above is stone Beneath an ancient ocean We are of the land Before our time Both king and serf Beneath our children’s feet The rain does not fall Though still may drown us Our share of the sun Is a meagre flame That does not warm our backs For mountainous cumuli Hang over our heads As our time in the labyrinth Draws near its dark end We thank the king On his throne of stone That he has lifted the lid And what others perceive As the depth of night Is to us a blinding blaze And the sky! We are lost in the sky As our heavy boots splash Through the stars

: Six : Shot : Gallery

read our publication