Byways

Vinterreise Lieder: Im Abendrot (for the love of music, the universal language)

The path is short, the land much wider
the horizon barely one line
as I, the stranger and outsider
stop to listen at the edge of time

Standing still I brave the Season
puzzling when we will end, to end well
knowing no better reason
beyond bidding farewell

I did my best, or so I trust
days of love, days of rest
the celebration of life and lust
a few fruits, no more than zest

But today the sound is void
the speaker stumbling, the journey subdued
if not for one note, unspoiled
rescuing the melody in its prelude

In rest, no more to pursue
I hear music, finally aware
that in dreaming of you
Our string had always been there

The Pattern that Connects
I’m all that is left of your casting foundation
unwitting bedrock
the hidden current binding the seas pole-to-pole

the whole that has evolved mismatched
step-by-step
into the unravelling plot

I’m the hidden current, the enigma
the perfect note befitting the instrument
the fruit we harvest before the fall

I’m the sound and the memory of it
the riddle of creating and being created
ancient root, amnesia

lasting memory of a phrase
spoken by the voice behind no face
before becoming creed

I invented the first word you’ve mastered:

I'm the old parchment, Alexandria’s beacon
a surviving scroll of the Dead Sea
The metalanguage, the trinity tying the verb
‘of all that thou wast created’

I am what will always be:
a single line that will ever hold
the ephemeral web of time

A piece of the hidden code
the pattern binding together
the fabric of your lasting world

Existence
Love will always be there they say
But where and how?
A glitter in the starry skies
When awake and ache for rest

Or a jump into darkness until flashes
of floating angels raise me up again
the morning light burning in my veins
bringing hope of staying alive and well

But then: why all those words unsaid
the nearness of your hand though cold and far
the promise of healing, bright and real
As if pain was forever ending…

Even if briefly I saw the path ahead at dawn
The craft ready for the journey
The sail breathing wind
A rope to cast leaving the shore

Until the recurring fear
of swelling and delusion
knowing it’s in Nature to live and die

I resolve to anchor Here and Now
Reborn by the gentle bouncing of my cradle
The core of everlasting creation

Still Life
Time goes by
Slowing our pace at times, perhaps
But only our still life may remain
Fading away as time stays still

Did time stop when we first met?
Or was just landscape immersed in its morning beauty
A wooden boat ready to be launched
the new shore ahead
Wind pushing our sails
The urge to chart new oceans
Tenderness, if we would only dare?
I now revisit the misty shine I saw in your eyes
The path of unspoken sadness and longing
Words hidden away
Useless words anyway

I wish time would be fiction
A virtual device
A new spacescape
Beyond you and I
All the rest
Togetherness
Petrified awareness
A passionate embrace
Time Place Age
Sound Smell Sight
Knowledge Reinvention
Past Future Existence
Endlessness

All redundant
As life
All true still

Fall Equinox
Today is suddenly Autumn
the glimmering light dropping lightly
on the windowsill

Gusts of cold wind blowing
cutting blades
bleeding leaves instead

What was summer
has dried in golden scars
tree trunks barely standing

Branches spreading sadly
longing for life
now denning elsewhere

the sinking letters of my unwritten book

Slash and Burn (an African night)

Firing the night, a red spot ahead
a dim of light by the trail unseen
first the distance then the smell
coming closer to thrum and skin

Drumming dream
awake beloved land
Heart of Darkness…
The silence, the silence I hear.

Monsoon raging insects
zigzagging stars
zooming in step by step
hush no more

Red bloom the horizon banner
hidden path we follow
shadows down we came
Land’s End
one and the same

Fire - echoes the tracker
we must see ahead before we go
slashing route piece by piece
Redoing the landscape

unwinding the night all’s spell till all’s gone
one home away still so near

Wedding
It’s Sunday and I am newly wed
Wed nesday is good news as long as I remember
When weekdays get shorter

Yesterday was windy today rainy
Ocean and sky are grey heavy
Plumbic but bright

I know the time is right for autumn
There is a newly born stillness
Which is how new seasons start

Silence prevails overpowering details
outlines are softened in the hidden phrase
and the light will soon be gone

But all’s right: it’s Sunday and I’m newly wed

Undone
I may tell you someday missing you was nothing
Compared with those dull days

I would turn the clock back if I could
Rediscover colour and sense and smell and smile
To feel the first warm touch to find you there
Likely to forget it all for once

And in your impending absence
I would recall I was there myself
For a purpose, perhaps

The Monsoon Gate
In a house made of mud I rest my shell
the tide rewriting the ancient days
of unspoken sound and scare

Summer is imminent
unsheltered nakedness of light
spelling stars, the silvery heaven

harvesting spirits raising the first day of rain

Nature is far and wide, still and strong
thunder ramping up a crescendo cry
from above, the leaden sky

Restless I seek for the warmth of a human hand
the harbor where I may rest
when shore seems forever lost

Now it’s raining and the noise is mute
my voice muffled by running drops
the words chocking inside my throat

Now the unbearable storm
The croaker awakening
from their faithful unrest and me accordingly

Today I know the fiery season has landed
to feed the shallows of younger days
Now in one with the foundation of life

Der Tod in Venedig (for António Nogueira da Costa, 1953-1981)

The lover, his eyes on the fading shore
and the beloved figure pointing to the twilight dusk
the out-of-season breeze twinning them more

By the sea edge his hallowed face
in passing bliss
the fading quietude and passion

How to rest if not becalmed and settled
the bearing land swelling its falling veil
tale and fate ever nearer?

Neither love nor land now mute the sound
the evanescing strike of beauty
fading with the fleeting figure

beyond the horizon the lover’s gaze
is now slowly standing still
his arm in one with the sea swell in its eternal flow

all ebbing away