How can I describe, my beloved one,
The mountain’s glory in the morning sun?
How can I tell you of the silent glade
In the snowy depths of the forest shade?
And how shall I capture for you the spell
Of the crystal showers in the frozen dell?
Schloss Kassegg.
February 1985
The dandelion seeds have all blown, my Love,
In the meadow down by the marsh,
And another year has all flown, my Love,
In the meadow down by the marsh.
Oh, where will we be when the bare hawthorn tree
Next fills with white may,
Next fills with white may?
The seasons of seeding are shorter each year,
The blossoms less long on the bough,
The days of our Springtime were longer by far.
The Summers more golden than now.
Oh, where will we be when the bare hawthorn tree
Next fills with white may,
Next fills with white may?
She was seated before me
Listening intently
The lines of her fair neck
Curving so gracefully
Down to golden shoulders.
But it was her long hair,
Plaited nonchalantly,
Which so distracted me.
From a thick auburn crown,
Three separate tresses
Set out resolutely
On their downward journey
To the small of her back,
Meandering slowly
In time to the music,
Now above, now below,
A rare relationship
Of three equal suitors,
Intimate, enfolding,
Sinuous, caressing,
Each lover approaching
The other obliquely
With the same strategy,
Now from left, now from right,
Abandoning thin
Sacrificial wisps
En route,
Each fusing finally,
Molten sand, copper, gold,
All capitulating,
Exhausted totally,
In the baroque coda
Of a black silk ribbon.
Written in St Gallen, Austria, during the music festival in Schloss Gallenstein.
August 1994
I have a homing instinct for the stars 
You must be logged in to post a comment.