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Wednesday 5 January 2011

Water Mill, Mist and Fog, Evening


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File:Water mill Rosenmühle in Lower Saxony, Germany.jpg

Water mill, with mist and fog, evening, Rosenmühle, on the river Haller, Lower Saxony, Germany: photo by Michael Gäbler, 2008



While everything external
dies away in the far off
echo of the soul
still there’s a mill wheel turning

it is like a good
kind of tiredness in
the moment before sleep
by some distant stream

a note of peace
in a life which
will never be peaceful
as the daylight fades

the dream disintegrates
but the shadow holds
no power
over what’s about to happen




File:Volcanic Ash Dunes.jpg

Volcanic Ash Dunes of Tarvurvur, Papua New Guinea: photo by tarotastic, 2009

11 comments:

STEPHEN RATCLIFFE said...

Tom,

yes --

the moment before sleep
before some distant stream

meanwhile, Temporality (II) continues --


1.5

pink edge of grey cloud in pale blue sky
above plane of ridge, planet beside leaf
in foreground, sound of waves in channel

frogs out there in the dark
sound, new stars too

rock leaning against window,
boy holding baby, “E”

cloudless blue sky reflected in channel,
whiteness of gull flapping toward point

TC said...

Steve,

Wonderful continuity with everything, here --

frogs out there in the dark
sound, new stars too

rock leaning against window,
boy holding baby, “E” --

though one must admit to wondering about that mysterious "E" -- ?

Issa's Untidy Hut said...

In vastness,
the sound of starlight,
ripples, the pond.

The photos, altogether, are almost unbearably beautiful.

Very much enjoyed your poem, Tom.

Don

TC said...

Thanks, Don. There are the places where one would wish to be. They are there, in the mind, maybe, for a while... just a moment, like the quick flick of a waterbug or a star lost in the vastness of that big pond.

Issa's Untidy Hut said...

I've always puzzled over how universal Basho's frog poem is and, yet, it seems to inhabit everything, including my occluded brain.

Suddenly, there are the stars in the pond with your ever widening ripples, and Master Frog, no doubt, with something else to say.

All of these recent posts you've sent have such a unified feel, in image and word. Thanks, you got some of those clogged up synapses cracking.

STEPHEN RATCLIFFE said...

Tom,

Thanks for this note, it gave me courage to continue when I saw it last night. . .

The "boy" is Johnny, "E" is Emmanuelle, his little niece, Oona's baby, my granddaughter -- a little confusing perhaps, but there they are in photo in the window. . . .

Julia said...

¡¡ Beautiful poem, Tom!!

Oh, oh, the word verification: "ressing"

TC said...

Cheers Don, Steve, Julia. More Frog Masters and Johnny boys and Baby E's are exactly what we need right now.

(That, and fewer fossilized insomniac geezers with broken legs dreaming of being rotated by historical mill wheels into the volcanic ash dunes of Papua New Guinea.)

Issa's Untidy Hut said...

Perhaps we don't need more, but we are very happy that the job is taken.

Hope the leg isn't troubling you too much.

Don

TC said...

Don,

Thanks for the thoughtful inquiry, I've been waiting (three days) to be able to say, it's coming along.

But alas, it's in pretty bad shape, and things aren't good.

Spent an hour in the night tuned into a talkshow on which a wise and gentle fellow who runs a "dying center" talked about how everything begins and ends with the calm "breathing in the belly," and that seemed about the most sensible thing I've heard in the last three-and-a-half weeks.

Issa's Untidy Hut said...

I am sorry, Tom, that your leg is not coming along. It seems the older we get, the more that seems to simply unravel.

It is amazing how something as simply as "breathing in the belly" I can myself forget with alarming regularity. It used to be I would go from one floor to the other, forgetting why I came. Now it seems, I make a determination to do something and have forgotten before I even cross the room.

"Breathing in the belly" - I'm going to see if I can remember that for awhile - or until the next time someone reminds me!

Hope you make some progress, however little, one day at a time.

Don