To make a poem, catch a goat;
Draw a knife across its throat.
When all life has left the creature,
Skin it; dip its hide in water.
Add old lime and stir the pot
Till the mixture seems to clot.
Then throw the clotted stuff away
And add fresh water every day
For a week, in winter more.
When the water's clean and clear,
Make a frame and stretch the skin,
Set well away from heat and sun.
Let it dry, then moisten it
And scrape the skin when it is wet.
On the flesh side of the skin
Pour fine pumice; rub it in.
Now make the skin tight in the frame.
And wait a day before you trim
The vellum you have made. Then scan
The sky for raven, goose, or swan
(Some bird of size that does not sing)
And pluck a feather from a wing.
A left-wing feather if you can
Because such feathers fit the hand.
For ink, you need the bearberry,
And bark stripped from a willow tree.
Boil the mixture. When you spill
A drop that forms a little ball,
The ink is done. The vellum waits
The issue of the murdered goat,
The plundered raven, swan, and tree,
The music of the bearberry.
‹ rendered by Leonard Woolf