Saturday, 11 February 2012

Summer Garden

The clouds abate. The window is a mesh of raindrops. It is the middle of February. Summer is months away. Not that I am complaining. Then a photograph catches my eye and like Louise Glück I too am transported to a different time (in a different country).
How quiet the garden is;
no breeze ruffles the Cornelian cherry.
Summer has come.

How quiet it is
now that life has triumphed. The rough

pillars of the sycamores
support the immobile
shelves of the foliage,

the lawn beneath
lush, iridescent—

And in the middle of the sky,
the immodest god.

Things are, he says. They are, they do not change;
response does not change.

How hushed it is, the stage
as well as the audience; it seems
breathing is an intrusion.

He must be very close,
the grass is shadowless.

How quiet it is, how silent,
like an afternoon in Pompeii.

An excerpt from Summer Garden, a poem by Louise Glück. From Poetry (January, 2012)

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