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Aaaaaaaaaaah !! Just got back two days ago from a lovely lovers' week-end in Dublin, a beautiful city full of life and vigour, a capital city with a small-town niceness about the people and a human scale (not a huge metropolis). There I found a few poetry books which I shall start enjoying as soon as term has ended: W.H. Auden and Alfred, Lord Tennyson. Lovely hours of reading ahead!
I've also just finished a new piece, about the magnificent early mornings here, in the Mountain Alaric which looms heavily over the village, visible from the pool side of the garden as well as from the living-room. So here it is:
By the way, copyrights have now been deposited on all of my poems, in English, French, and Spanish as well (there are very few in the tongue of Garcia Lorca, but still...)
A good day to all!
I've also just finished a new piece, about the magnificent early mornings here, in the Mountain Alaric which looms heavily over the village, visible from the pool side of the garden as well as from the living-room. So here it is:
Dawn over the Alaric
Slowly the greyish hues turn white
And suddenly to blinding light
As vividly the colours spread
Through the sky in blazing red,
orange, yellow and bright pink,
Chasing away the night's dark ink;
Then in turn each subtle hue
Recedes, revealing pale blue.
Wildlife wakes. First bugs appear;
On spindly legs a lovely deer
Grazes nearby, shivering slightly,
As grouse go by, treading so lightly.
The cecadas, who never cease,
Cut noisily through morning peace.
Sparkling and clean, fragrant and sweet,
Charged with scent before the heat,
A waft of breeze heavy with thyme,
Rosemary, fig leaf, cypress, vine,
In the crisp air of early day
At once takes your breath away...
And suddenly to blinding light
As vividly the colours spread
Through the sky in blazing red,
orange, yellow and bright pink,
Chasing away the night's dark ink;
Then in turn each subtle hue
Recedes, revealing pale blue.
Wildlife wakes. First bugs appear;
On spindly legs a lovely deer
Grazes nearby, shivering slightly,
As grouse go by, treading so lightly.
The cecadas, who never cease,
Cut noisily through morning peace.
Sparkling and clean, fragrant and sweet,
Charged with scent before the heat,
A waft of breeze heavy with thyme,
Rosemary, fig leaf, cypress, vine,
In the crisp air of early day
At once takes your breath away...
By the way, copyrights have now been deposited on all of my poems, in English, French, and Spanish as well (there are very few in the tongue of Garcia Lorca, but still...)
A good day to all!
