Frost on lingonberry leaves: photo by Steffan Enbom, 31 December 2003
The cherry ball on the mercury stick drops off at three zero
Off to the left the iridescent glow of the sea glances
Gold and hard in the thin indifferent sun
Ah and all the green and growing things wonder what hit them
Nasturtium hibiscus and clover shriveling
Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness
This silent blast from the polar freezer fuses
Leaf arteries into obelisks of bright glass
Frozen Filipendula bush: photo by Kallerna, 10 November 2004
Frost on a nettle, The Netherlands: photo by Loranchet, 23 October 2007; image by Vincent van Zeijst, 1 August 2008
12 comments:
"Frost on a nettle" sounds like the opening verse of a poem..
Hmmm... I think I'll use it (with your kind permission)
Sweet lyric. Many thanks for the pleasure it gave me.
Conrad,
Be my guest, please.
I am sure that where you are you have nettles aplenty to observe, not to mention more frost than The Netherlands.
Michael,
There I go, practising my lyric quietude and seeking to give pleasure again.
Incorrigible.
A daffy grin of thanks.
Ah, nettles--right now the ones growing between my rows of green onion (whose leaves we sacrifice for salads)are about 5" high and soon they--along with other wild greens--will be filling my wife's home-made crust and then plopped in the oven for a great veggie pitta. When they get too high and can fight back, I cut them down and put them in the compost pile--great source of nitrogen.
By the way, I liked your poem, pleasure given again.
Vassilis,
You have warmed our nettles, unfrozen our Filipendula and thawed our lingonberries.
Now all we dare ask is the magic carpet to whisk us over to help you work on that veggie pitta.
Afterward (and during) we can thank your amazing wife, then kick back and watch the compost wholesomely decompose.
Tom,
"This silent blast from the polar freezer fuses
Leaf arteries into obelisks of bright glass"
not quite THAT cold here this morning (big green nasturtium leaves next to house not shriveled) but it was plenty chilly out there in the channel, first edge of sun rising above ridge about as far sound as it's going to get this year. Meanwhile, another
orange edge of cloud "illumination" --
12.20
light coming into sky above black plane
of ridge, waning white moon by branches
in foreground, sound of wave in channel
pass from A to B, then to C
projected or outlined
reflections on, relation of
synthesis to, thought
sun rising above orange edge of cloud,
moon in cloudless blue sky on horizon
Steve,
As I've said before, I don't know how you do it.
But... awe.
And the "virtual experience" -- yes!
light coming into sky above black plane
of ridge, waning white moon by branches
in foreground, sound of wave in channel
sun rising above orange edge of cloud,
moon in cloudless blue sky on horizon
Tom:
Think about this.
Most of the poets of yore lived much shorter lives than we do.
Have we used that extra time to make more and better art?
Have we become more sophisticated? What do the extra years yield?
Do poets, like mathematicians, peak at a young age?
Your blog is an education in itself. I am happy to be in your class and sit in on these offerings, discussions, and presentations. I wish I could respond impressively or majestically. This is a special place to go to for lots of reasons. Peace and good thoughts. Very stimulating. Thank you so much.
Susan,
Thanks very much, that's sweet of you to say. There's no pleasure like giving pleasure to others. It's for that reason I do this blog.
Curtis Faville,
Think about this.
The poems posted on this blog over the past thirty days have all been written by poets (Giuseppe Ungaretti, George Seferis, Stevie Smith, Nizar Qabbani, Bill Deemer, and Charles Deemer, Thomas Hardy, Jim Dine, Ed Sanders, among others) who got better with time, had the courage to stick to their guns.
I think in all cases named, the artistic quality got better and better no matter the body may have done otherwise. Even fallen to pieces.
Also, think about this.
If reading poems by poets who are not young bothers you, what are you doing here?
Beautiful match of words and images. "Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness" - oh, yes, indeed.
Merci beaucoup, Dr. Don.
Coincidentally, that line developed a mysterious affinity, just a few hours ago, in my dodgy old brain anyhow, with this:
Nightingales near
the river.
No superfluous noise.
Vassilis Zambaras
(I want to trade my sub-Alaskan frost-obelisk for a Greek nightingale, right now!)
Post a Comment