Capturing the sun
The sun is warm on my front,
and the shade is cold on my back,
as I sit on the patio at noon, early in spring,
looking in my window.
Late yesterday, the sun not yet set,
but gone behind a veil,
I stood at that window,
looking out on this patio,
the ferns and leaves a world,
a still green deep, of submerged rainforest light.
I'm eating capeseed bread,
with jam I made from green West Indian limes
grown in this garden, and golden pepinos
striped purple, grown on this patio,
both capturing the sun all thru winter.
Now the winter sun has set
in my home-grown marmalade.
Looking in my window, I wonder
what kind of man lives and works there?
Mostly sunless, I believe.
Yet lit by fires of suns set many aeons gone,
in the time of dinosaurs.
Would he sit on this patio
and wonder?
I eat the winter sun,
and, needy as a lizard,
soak up, on my scaly skin,
the scanty warmth of spring.
----------------------
(c) Yahya
29 September 2004
----------------------
and the shade is cold on my back,
as I sit on the patio at noon, early in spring,
looking in my window.
Late yesterday, the sun not yet set,
but gone behind a veil,
I stood at that window,
looking out on this patio,
the ferns and leaves a world,
a still green deep, of submerged rainforest light.
I'm eating capeseed bread,
with jam I made from green West Indian limes
grown in this garden, and golden pepinos
striped purple, grown on this patio,
both capturing the sun all thru winter.
Now the winter sun has set
in my home-grown marmalade.
Looking in my window, I wonder
what kind of man lives and works there?
Mostly sunless, I believe.
Yet lit by fires of suns set many aeons gone,
in the time of dinosaurs.
Would he sit on this patio
and wonder?
I eat the winter sun,
and, needy as a lizard,
soak up, on my scaly skin,
the scanty warmth of spring.
----------------------
(c) Yahya
29 September 2004
----------------------
posted by Yahya at 9:27 pm
1 Comments:
Annonyme left me a lovely poem in May 2005, in response to my "Capturing the sun". And I have only just noticed it today - more than seven years later! Which is not so strange, really, since I'm not really the blogging type - can you tell? ;-)
In case you're still taking notice, Annonyme ( = "The anonymous Anne"?), thank you so much for sharing your poem with me. :-) I really enjoyed it, mostly because I do know exactly how you feel!
Below is my feeble attempt at translating Annonyme's poem "Bonheur". I had to guess at a couple of words, so suggestions for improvement are welcome:
Happiness
my last feeling of pure happiness:
swimming in this large pool, all alone,
looking at this sky of perfect blue and, in a corner, this proud and upright palm,
listening to the movement of my legs brushing this perfectly smooth stretch of water,
hearing the whoosh of my breathing become sporty and earnest,
this sensation of isolation accentuated by my momentarily muffled hearing ...
leaving the pool and observing this pretty girl stretched out beside it
tiny bathing costume still a little damp and so sticking to the skin
I wanted right then to be a drop of water and trickle the length of her delicate neck and secrete myself in the notch, this little plaything just before the beginning of the breast.
leaving the pool briskly and feeling the sudden heat of sunbeams.
walking barefoot on the ground of this little corner of paradise and feeling my soles burning,
walking right
up to her
and kissing her lips, dry but soft,
mine are damp and cold
still feeling the effect of this unhabitual contact.
I know in my utter depths: I love my wife like crazy.
-----
Aaaahhhhh ... c'est ça!
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