Poems from Previous Lives

 

 

WISH ON A CRISP WINTER MORNING

(Almost a homage to Bruegel) *

 

 

A frozen blackbird, male, lying in the snow.
To think that it could easily be me!
And this, a crisp and sunny winter day,
could be a belated Christmas present,
could be the only perfect day to die.
And this, my perished breakfast guest,
could be the only perfect way to die.

Shall we not wander further, friend,
like hunters in the snow?

 
 
 

*  (For Pieter Bruegel’s “Hunters in the Snow”,  see also:

http://www.nancyhuntting.net/Bruegel-Talk.html )

 

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AFTER BENT’S FUNERAL

To Klaus Jensen

 

A land of trailers and tracksuits,
of people who don’t give a damn?

A land whose beauty is so quiet,
that you love it for being discreet?

A land where anything goes –
but never forget to say thanks!

But they do love their kids,
can be just as jealous as us
and cry when grand-dad dies.

 

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AUTUMN COME TOO SOON

 

This much-too-orange moon,
too large, too bright, too cheeky,
that mocks my every movement,
my moods, my very madness…
This cannot be the moon of your
long walks on unknown beaches,
without even a dog, without us both,
the Baltic’s feathers ruffled by the early
breezes of this autumn come too soon.

 

Oh, no, this has to be my moon alone,
for it is coloured just like dying leaves,
appropriately enough, because this is
the designated season of farewells,
when everything that’s natural will die,
making – like our scant harvest of love –
space for the hopeful flowers of next year.

 

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CWM NANTCOL, GWYNEDD

To the Howies of Gwyn-Fryn Farm, Llanbedr

 

“Ah l’uomo che se ne va sicuro,
agli altri ed a se stesso amico…”

(E. Montale, ‘Ossi di seppia’) *

 
 

Perhaps up here, where ice and wind and rain
have cropped the trees, have carved the very rocks,
I’ll find my peace at last. Up here, with buzzards
flying low, to meet me by the wall where rabbits flock,
where sheep outnumber people, where feet tread Roman steps.
Up here, perhaps, where wandering I wonder at anagrams of God.
Perhaps up here, I could – in the long run – even find myself.

 
 

* (Ah the man who goes forth sure-footed,
a friend to himself and others…)

 

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DRY, DON QUIXOTE

 

And if one day,
old by now,
painting windmills …
(hand unsteady)
field of flowers …
lucid moments
come to me …
if I should think
blue eyes,
then dry a tear
may catch me
unawares.

 

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KNUDMOSEN IN NOVEMBER

To Hanne

 

I went out at dawn in search of you,
With no romantic notions in my head,
Armed with all that makes a man despair:
I had it all with me, like precious tools.

We maundered round in search
Of my perdition, of Heaven, Hell,
Or worse, what is the difference?
It’s all the same without that
Elusive main ingredient that is you.

And then over the railway bridge,
Where rubbish became mountains
And mountains are still calling,
My nimble dog’s feet crackled
When they trampled over you,
my Frosty Lady.

 

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FULL MOON OVER THE CORNFIELDS

 

These endless rows of corn
line up to greet me, eagerly,
green soldiers on parade.

They stand all there so proud,
so splendidly turned out,
their golden moonlit feathers
on their tall hunting hats.

A band of willing crickets
raucously tries to accompany
this impromptu performance,
this friendly war display.

This night is so magnificent,
but where are you, my Love?

 

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HERON BY THE THAMES

(Reflections on a pencil drawing of a heron) **

 

I’d like to be
like this grey heron –
silent, discreet
and

ruthless.

Should really be
more like him –
focussed,
precise
and

merciless!

 

 

 

** (This drawing can be seen on the page
“I VERSI DELL’AIRONE”, on this blog)

 

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I WENT WITH MY DOG

TO THE BUTCHER’S

(A cheerful waltz)

 

I went with my dog to the butcher’s,
between hail and howling winds.
No more pheasants at Guido and Hanne’s
but Roxane she plays with a stick.

The sunshine’s now coming to town,
I look to the east, towards you:
towards you, I must soon forget,
to think a bit more about me.

Two couples: two ladies, two gents,
were Hanne’s and Guido’s guests.
They came more than once every day,
and now we won’t see them again.

But to hell with pheasants and hail,
who cares about sunshine or wind?
Forget the whole shit, confounded!
I am losing The Only One – You!!

 

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MAGIC BY THE CAMPFIRE

 

Will you walk with me through the cornfields,
when the sun is just fading away,
and the mist is just rising to greet us,
and the crickets’ song’s singing of hay?
Will you walk with me through the forest,
with your hand in my hand in the darkness,
till we find a mere glimmer of moonlight,
and sit still in a clearing of magic,
then lie down by a campfire of love?
I’m no slayer of dragons, but could be
the best angel to watch over you!

 

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PREPARING FOR A PEACEFUL WINTER

 

The very first to travel
were my raucous frogs.
Then soon my crickets,
alas, also became silent.
I think I saw this night
a lonely, single firefly.
The swallows, hardly
any, just the lazier ones.
Soon our summer love,
too, has to migrate, depart,
for winter’s snowy days
must bring more serenity!

 

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Copyright © 2010-2013 Guido Comin – Belluno, Italy. All rights reserved.

 

 

 

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11 commenti su “Poems from Previous Lives

  1. act ha detto:

    Wоah! I’m really enjoying the template/theme of this sіte.
    It’s simple, yet effective. A lot of times it’s difficult to get that “perfect balance” between superb սsability and visual apρeal.
    I must say that you’ve done a fantastic job with this.
    Also, the blog loads very quick for me on Firefox.
    Exceptional Blog!

    • PoetaMatusèl ha detto:

      Many thanks indeed for such a lovely appreciation!! I only occasionally write in English any more, but there are other poems scattered around the blog and in some collections listed in the top menu. Thanks again! :O)

  2. Thanks for the article. Keep writing.

    • PoetaMatusèl ha detto:

      Thank you, I will!! I only occasionally write in English any more, but there are other poems scattered around the blog and in some collections listed in the top menu. Thanks again! :O)

  3. masennus ha detto:

    Do you mind if I quote a few of your articles as long as I provide credit and sources back to your weblog?
    My blog is in the very same area of interest as yours and my visitors would really benefit from a lot of the information you provide here.
    Please let me know if this alright with you. Appreciate it!

    • PoetaMatusèl ha detto:

      Hello there!! Thank you for your interest in my blog! I cannot see any problems in your sharing its contents, as long as you quote the source, as you said. I’m curious about your blog, so please let me know what it’s called, so I can visit you, too.

      Looking forward to hearing from you…

      Kindest regards,

      Guido

  4. Sam ha detto:

    I love your evocation of the heron’s dark side. To hell with Disney-esque sugarcoating, the heron is a bloody descendant of the dromaeosaurids, and it shows!

    • PoetaPazzo ha detto:

      Spot on, Sam, thank you!! And with your customary scientific precision, too… I became fascinated with this bird when I used to be able to watch it for long periods, at low tide, from the windows of my flat overlooking the Thames in London. I always thought it possessed some qualities I lack myself! 😉

  5. […] Versi dell’Airone”“Poésie Française”“Poems from Previous Lives”“Poesías españolas” ← BELLUNO 03/01/2011 · 23:33 ↓ Jump […]

  6. PoetaPazzo ha detto:

    Thank you very much, Marie!! I really appreciate that!

    Methinks you flatter me too willingly though … ;-]

    I’m looking forward to reading *your* poetry, too!

    Bye for now, and — as you suggested: MAKE a Great Day!!!

    PoetaPazzo (= CrazyPoet … ROFL)

  7. Marie Watts(USA) ha detto:

    I am also a poet and an artist. I do love to read your poems, for you are very talented. Thank you for sharing it with me.
    Take Care…

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