Happy Easter
Tomorrow is a long time ...
But that it has been almost three years now? Gee...
The only thing I wanted, really, was to post one of my favorite poems concerning Easter:
Frühling 1938
Heute, Ostersonntag früh
Ging ein plötzlicher Schneesturm über die Insel.
Zwischen den grünenden Hecken lag Schnee. Mein junger Sohn
Holte mich zu einem Aprikosenbäumchen an der Hausmauer
Von einem Vers weg, in dem ich auf diejenigen mit dem Finger deutete
Die einen Krieg vorbereiteten, der
Den Kontinent, diese Insel, mein Volk, meine Familie und mich
Vertilgen mag. Schweigend
Legten wir einen Sack
Über den frierenden Baum.
which translates (loosely) as such
Spring, 1938
Early this Easter Sunday Morning
A sudden snowstorm washed over the Island
The lawn between the greening hedges was covered with snow. My young son
took me to a peach tree standing small and crouched against the wall of our house
took me away from a poem in which I pointed my finger at those
who are preparing to wage a war, in which
the continent, this island, my people, my family and myself
may be utterly destroyed. Silently
with a piece of piece of rough linen we covered
the shivering tree.
Not only because of the dreadful weather outside, this is - still - one of my favorite poems :-)
Frank
But that it has been almost three years now? Gee...
The only thing I wanted, really, was to post one of my favorite poems concerning Easter:
Frühling 1938
Heute, Ostersonntag früh
Ging ein plötzlicher Schneesturm über die Insel.
Zwischen den grünenden Hecken lag Schnee. Mein junger Sohn
Holte mich zu einem Aprikosenbäumchen an der Hausmauer
Von einem Vers weg, in dem ich auf diejenigen mit dem Finger deutete
Die einen Krieg vorbereiteten, der
Den Kontinent, diese Insel, mein Volk, meine Familie und mich
Vertilgen mag. Schweigend
Legten wir einen Sack
Über den frierenden Baum.
which translates (loosely) as such
Spring, 1938
Early this Easter Sunday Morning
A sudden snowstorm washed over the Island
The lawn between the greening hedges was covered with snow. My young son
took me to a peach tree standing small and crouched against the wall of our house
took me away from a poem in which I pointed my finger at those
who are preparing to wage a war, in which
the continent, this island, my people, my family and myself
may be utterly destroyed. Silently
with a piece of piece of rough linen we covered
the shivering tree.
Not only because of the dreadful weather outside, this is - still - one of my favorite poems :-)
Frank