To Yelena and Serge

From barren lands where ice floes loom

she flew shrouded in grey damp mist

scouring the teeth of ragged heights

abysses fast in craggy depth.

In lone night beneath flaring stars

came wafting breeze of elven song

a vision warm of silver trees

amid a beckoning valley's bells.

 ٭ ٭ ٭

Across the plains of gold-strewn grass

waved riding swift a tireless steed

white-maned, a breeze of evening light

bearing a rider bright and fair.

His eyes were keen yet wide and far

in search for treasured gold and gem

not hidden in fierce dragon's lair

nor buried under mountain old.

٭ ٭ ٭

Some saw them passing through the gate

formed by the boughs of mallorn trees

beholding Cerin Amroth's green

immersed in glint of elanor,

niphredil's blooms in ageless grass.

Whither their road may ever go

their footfalls pace in union

Whichever starlight fills their eyes

a sky shines in their hearts.

Quote

    "Die Welt muss romantisiert werden. So findet man den ursprünglichen Sinn wieder. Romantisieren ist nichts als eine qualitative Potenzierung. Das niedere Selbst wird mit einem besseren Selbst in dieser Operation identifiziert. So wie wir selbst eine solche qualitative Potenzen-Reihe sind. Indem ich dem Gemeinen einen hohen Sinn, dem Gewöhnlichen ein geheimnisvolles Ansehen, dem Bekannten die Würde des Unbekannten, dem Endlichen einen unendlichen Schein gebe, so romantisiere ich es. Ohne vollendetes Selbstverständnis wird man andere nie wahrhaft verstehen lernen."

Novalis

Vernal Moon

Beneath winter's white cloak
abides the flower's seed
beyond the shadows' ice
blooms fire of cherry trees

Away blow gloomy thoughts
amid splendour of green
the warming sun's of old
treasure of light is seen

O moon away the night!
The shoal of stars in dance
in petals' fragrant swirl
joyful deliverance.

#74

her smile with paws

lit from an inner sun

setting the sky aflame

from deep within

a jasmine rain of fireflies

becoming silken breeze

on swaying grass

touched by the pinetrees' scent

of moon suffused hands.

(for C.)

Abendfähre

silberner strom, ewiges band
der rinnenden zeit
samtflüssiger abend
durchmessen vom winterlicht

silberner strom, dunkelnde ufer
zu denen wir taulosen ziehn
entworren den schimmernden strudeln
spiegelnder trugbilder

silberner strom, pappeln im scherenschnitt
pinsel im abendrotglanz
verwehender engelsflügel
gefallen vom horizont
eisweiter ferne.

#70

Inside my garden, snowless realm

between the field of poppies and the vine

my favourite place from which I hear the sea:

there blooms your moon.

Wordless

Autumn (IV)

wild runs the silver stream
from mountain's lofty height
as only sound in serene air

amid world's remote end
the peace of falling leaves
caressing forlorn grass
dreaming of bygone summer

the cows have moved
to hearth fires of home
their ringing bells
resounding still between

these walls of rock
gleaming in fires of purple dusk
a smiling angel spreads upon the tops
announcing full hope's moon


deep in the alpine heart
a cave concealed
embraces winter's flower

Flying

There is freedom waiting for you,
On the breezes of the sky,
And you ask "What if I fall?"
Oh but my darling,
What if you fly?

— Erin Hanson

I did it and it was a unique experience : ))

meditation

listen to the dabbling sound of streaming water

listen to the sound of flowing water

listen to the flowing water

listen to the flow

be the water

be the flow

be

.

Beyond Seasons

Behold this dawn
announcing the new day:
there shines your light
of stainless gold.

Behold this setting sun
closing the evening's curtain:
there glows your being
broidering my canvas.

Vanishing snow, first rays
caressing little buds:
there springs your seed
imbuing my chest's meadows.

O glaring summer heat,
bee's dance amid the grass:
your wheat is ripening,
granary's plenty.

Swirling the leaves of gold
in autumns glowing memory:
there flows your wine,
transporting tongue to soul.

Peacefully resting earth
beneath caressing white:
sheltered abides your flower,
rooted in grounds of old.

Timeless ocean of stars,
measured by your moon's path:
your smile its halo,
heaven-eyed.

olive shore

at the shore

salt in his eyes

a drop of spray

joining their oceans

out of the sky

first star in dusk

falling as seed

for a blue flower

beyond horizon's gleam

a deeper light

rustling in olive branches

stranding in roots

stretching into lavender sighs

beneath the waves

engulfing fragrant shores

Tide

she awakens the dawn

and her eyes raise the morning

suffusing blue and gold

with blooming birdsong

unfurling peony's bud

into a lush day of spring

my flower opens

under the tide

of her moon

sombrous

          born at the brink

          of moonshadows and dusk

          we adore the quietly

          smiling face pinned

          to this ultramarine sea

                    dark yet glistening

                    trickling into the mist

                    of our autumn souls

                    seeping the wounds

                    to fill subterranean caves

          bear with the trees

          that have shed their leaves 
          for they stained your eyes with gold

                     bear with the trees

                     that retracted to their roots

                     for they await

                     a warming sun

                     to fill their veines

(inspired by Yelena)

Surge

The Ninth Wave by Ivan Aivazovsky [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Relentlessly must follow
one surging wave another
amid the endless sea

A liquid mountain range
crowned by a whitecapped snow
from heaving rage to waning foam

Behind this wall: a veil
unto horizon's haze ̶
blue reign, infinite darkness
no land for sailor's gaze

Seafarer, lift your wings
toward the seagull's cry!
On white dream's billowed sail
toward the cloudy height!

Rest 'neath her shining star
upon her bloom-strewn lake
cradled inside
her moonlit boat
anchored in timeless season.


(for M.)

Adrift

The river's drifting slowly, grey and silver

beneath soft bulky clouds laden with shadows,

uprising dreams heaved by a western wind.

A flock of gulls swims with the current,

vacation travellers beckoned by breath

of distant seas, white cotton balls

knowing their home in wides and wilds.

Our roots afloat, enmeshed in driftwood

broken from glowing trees

in sparkling autums

before first snowfall.

The sky breaks not;

only a remote thunder

rumours and dissipates,

leaving the earth

unquenched.

Summer Field

Enchanted is the hour
before the break of night:
Illuminated lies the fading day
with weight upon our hearts
as darkening dream.

In stainless blue
the skylark tweets
as if a mockingbird
jeered the futility
of our souls' striving.

The corn stands bold
amidst the waning heat
awaiting scythe and mill
nurturing those who can
no longer feast on words.

A golden glowing eve:
corn poppies' fragile sway
in sighing wind
caught in those countless ears.

You are a summer field.

vacation diary (II) - urlaubstagebuch (II)

glückfriedlich träumt
im spiegel glatt
die kleine meeresbucht.

im oleanderzwitschern
blühen die vögel.

im kiefernduft
zirpen die grillen.

schafe mähen
das gras
und in die stille.

der halbe mond
zum trocknen
in den cirruswolken.

mücken surren
schläfrig noch
den abend ein.

altgewohntes
ist wie immer

neu bestauntes wunder.

A Note on Death

Right from the beginning there is this shadow walking behind us, invisibly waiting, patient and calm, a warrior anticipating the fortress' fall without fight, facing defenceless inhabitants. When the lights fade the shadow shows up in full fright while we darken, finally merging with us, consuming, becoming us.



(This emerged after I almost finished reading the exquisite novel The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger - spontaneously I was thinking, "Why couldn't she write a more fortunate end?". Books mostly end before the end; eventually it's life that writes the stories.)

Embers of Dawn

Risen from blue embers of dawn
garlanding hilltops of verdant grass,
in a crevice, concealed from the clamour
of the mundane, she fills her well
with fresh waters, pure as autumnal snow.

Enclosed by the mountains' range
her valley is flooded with birdsong
weaving soft sunlight among the trees
that keep secrets of old, untouched
by whispers of malignant weeds.

At eve, with beckoning chimes of
the chapel's bell, her prayer lifts
the spirit of those who are gifted
with the balm of her verses,
bathing in warm vernal breeze.

Soft-pawed comes her footstep,
lithe as the fragile birch
keeping watch at the sea.


(for my friend Yelena)