.
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
Volcanic Ash Dunes of Tarvurvur, Papua New Guinea: photo by tarotastic, 2009
11 comments:
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
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" -- ?
In vastness,
the sound of starlight,
ripples, the pond.
The photos, altogether, are almost unbearably beautiful.
Very much enjoyed your poem, Tom.
Don
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.
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.
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. . . .
¡¡ Beautiful poem, Tom!!
Oh, oh, the word verification: "ressing"
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.)
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
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.
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
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