Hinterland
By famous hills great vineyards rise and crest, Onlookers grinning they have chosen best Among the brochure scenes. As terraced roofs reflect a Tuscan shine And each one thinks this heritage is mine, Then forage through their books. How much depends on this? These social spells. As drone shots glide, orchestral music sells The fantasy of self. Our choice, the Russian steppe, with different skies; Few writers come, few can romanticize This endless land of grass And yet one look can easily forecast The future epic where this flowing vast Receives its modern sheen. Are we perhaps too easy to esteem? Hallucinating in our rambling dream A spiritual home. Oh well, let’s choose to be alone. As nights extend Moonlight to where the sky and grasses blend, A world of wonder, just for you and me.
An odd coincidence but I just started reading The Tartar Steppe. This somehow feels meaningful. The Russian Steppe could have been a good title as well.
Anyway I love the poem.
It feels like underneath the admiration for the beautiful land is a thin cover for the voice's distaste that it was commercially sold to them as the ideal landscape to settle down on. Even though at the end the voice says forget it, it's my land now. The human mind tends to self-adjust to new surroundings and justify the facts afterwards, even if it had misgivings before. Sort of a coping mechanism to assist with returning to a happy state of mind.
That's what I read out of this, anyways. I hope I got it close to right!