Who watches the tendrils grow and uncurl? Who watches the rose-buds glow and unfurl? Who watches the robin flash in the drizzle? Who watches the robin splash in the puddle? Flap – and hop – and look – and be gone?
Who watches the drizzle slowly subside? Who watches the clouds be blown and turn bright? Who watches the rainbow glimmer and blink? Who watches the rainbow shimmer and shrink? Flash – and stretch – and fade – and be gone?
Who watches the dusk? Who talks to the birds? Who gropes for the spring? Who smells the wet earth?
Who frees up the time? Who fills out the space? Who walks with the wind? Who offers his face?
Who watches the dusk?
Who talks to the birds? Who gropes for the spring? Who smells the wet earth?
Who frees up the time? Who fills out the space? Who walks with the wind? Who offers her face?
For the first poem written about that hour in the Rhön Highlands one spring afternoon, seeAm Gipfelkreuz (Silberhell). The “twin round waters” are the two little lakes known as Guckaisee (altitude 690 m/2000 feet). Summits of mountains are marked with large crosses in Germany, to be seen from afar.
Silberhell singt die Drossel auf keinem Gemälde. Quellenrein weht der Bergwind von keinem Bildschirm. Alterslos stürzt der Wildbach in keinem Musikstück.
Glasfensterbunt sind Tagträume, sonnenvergoldet Erinnerungen… Am buntesten aber ist das Jetzt. Jetzt. Und niemals, niemals kehrt die Stunde wieder, und immer, immer wird sie bei dir sein.
Written ten years ago today… How much would I remember without these poems? How much would I remember with photographs? I made an effort to take the moment in without taking photographs…
This poem was inspired by walks through the grounds of 18th century palace Schloss Fasanerie, (Eichenzell near Fulda, Germany), which are freely accessible to the public.
Is this moon new or young, a sliver or a crescent, silver or golden in the deep blue, the newly deep sky, is it striking or dazzling or mesmerising?
Is this a late spring, belated and all the more welcome, bursting with life, with green, bright green, saturated with rain and sunshine, saturated with colour and heat, heat unfamiliar and all the more welcome, or is it sudden summer?
Is this life at last, is this joy, is this joy of life, is it zest, is it just new life-force or is it happiness or elation or bliss?
Reality, as it laps up against the shores of your eyes and your ears and your nose, reality as it washes over the leas of your skin and seeps beneath, cannot be captured in words, not even in verse: reality, so dense it feels like a dream, is not a dream cloud nor a word cloud.
Although this poem would make a good one, with the message of sudden summer sounding out like birdcall, flooded with light and colour, steeped in joy, as if words were written from life and for life, as if words were part of life, of the wide earth and the deep sky and the reality beyond, of the ever-flowing life-force.
Word cloud of the poem Sudden Summer (colours edited but randomly allocated).
Happiness Beyond (Word Cloud)
Your life is a green reality, it reads in large green letters, and newly young; the sky is golden at last, it states in fine golden letters, and saturated with joy; eyes and ears are bursting with wide bright light, it adds in silvery white; and at the edge there is happiness beyond colour on deep-blue ground.
These are welcome words, sudden and possibly deep, a mesmerising message from slivers of verse in your ears, from the new dream poem, from the word cloud of Sudden summer: Your life is a green reality saturated with joy under the newly young moon.
Christina Egan 