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Once upon a Forest: a mix of music with a poem by Kirsty Logan, specially commissioned for Radio 3's Into the Forest.

Glasgow-based poet and novelist Kirsty Logan evokes the forest as a place of fairy tales - a place where danger may lurk, but also a place where we can reconnect with the fundamental forces of nature. The music is by Beethoven, Berlioz, Schubert and the Carter Family, together with the sounds of forests recorded in Britain and Canada.

Once Upon a Forest by Kirsty Logan:

In a gap amongst the trees
I know the things that I believe

Once upon a time a man sheltered inside a hollow oak, taking from the rich and giving to the poor.
Once upon a time a girl with skin as white as snow stumbled on a house with seven men.
Once upon a time a dragon spent its days gorging itself and its nights sleeping wrapped around an ancient trunk.
Once upon a time a woman, trying to escape, was turned into a tree.
Once upon a time the ghost of a headless woman rode a white deer chased by black hounds.
Once upon a time a boy king was killed and from his grave sprang up a well of healing waters.
Once upon a time an enchantress trapped unfaithful knights in a wooded valley.
Once upon a time a legendary king fought a magician disguised as a bull.
Once upon a time a girl in a red hood met a wolf.
Once upon a time a father on horseback has his son stolen by the erl-king.

In a gap amongst the trees
I see a thing I should not see

It starts with winter.
Three performers in procession: first clad in flowers; second in mourning black; third a white-shrouded ghost. Three stages of life.
Solemnly they circle the clearing.
A sudden crash: all the bells ringing at once.
Skeletons descend. Performers in black with a hodgepodge of bones stitched on, leering and wheeling.
Swans spread wide white wings, luminous as clouds.
Now spring: sex and love and new life blooming.
A person made of flowers is lifted up on the arms of the others. They spin, shedding petals. Fingers touch.
Red to cheeks and lips, a face rich with blood. An open mouth: a rose blooms; a blink: daisies appear.
Now summer: the harvests are in, and we eat.
Apples appear from thin air, thud, roll away.
A dead pig, torn into by animals. The pig moves, turns, stands – maggots, pulsing. In the length of a breath the pig rots, ash and earth.
Now autumn: the land bleeds.
Fingers smear the red of rosy cheeks, a slick throat.
The flowered person is covered in dead leaves. A body lifted and layered with veils of black. Planted in the earth, ready to rise.
The year turns, begins again.

In a gap amongst the trees
I find new things to believe

A forest is a large area dominated by trees.
A forest is a purifier of the air we breathe.
A forest is swaying.
A forest is home.
A forest is scary.
A forest is red.
A forest is dark and deep and hungry.
A forest is watching.
A forest is a place where most things are bigger than you.
A forest is a place of small things, if you know how to see them.
A forest is a company of wildness.
A forest is a dream world layered on top of the real one.
A forest is its own map.
A forest is an island.
A forest is an acorn.
A forest is a doorway.

In a gap amongst the trees
I have found new things to believe