"High on the vast blue canvas, clouds curl, float." - Pat Mora

 

Jim Hodges, untitled, 2011

                 Sommer                

        Weißt du, wie der Sommer riecht?
Nach Birnen und nach Nelken,
nach Äpfeln und Vergißmeinnicht,
die in der Sonne welken,
nach heißem Sand und kühlem See
und nassen Badehosen,
nach Wasserball und Sonnenkrem,
nach Straßenstaub und Rosen.
Weißt du, wie der Sommer schmeckt?
Nach gelben Aprikosen
und Walderdbeeren, halb versteckt
zwischen Gras und Moosen,
nach Himbeereis, Vanilleeis
und Eis aus Schokolade,
nach Sauerklee vom Wiesenrand
und Brauselimonade.
Weißt du, wie der Sommer klingt?
Nach einer Flötenweise,
die durch die Mittagsstille dringt,
ein Vogel zwitschert leise,
dumpf fällt ein Apfel in das Gras,
der Wind rauscht in den Bäumen,
ein Kind lacht hell, dann schweigt es schnell
und möchte lieber träumen.

Ilse Kleberger

Peom No 794- Emily Dickinson

Infinite Rain / Pluie de Montchal, Pier Fabre, 2022

 

794- Emily Dickinson

A Drop fell on the Apple Tree -

Another - on the Roof -

A Half a Dozen kissed the Eaves -

And made the Gables laugh -

A few went out to help the Brook

That went to help the Sea -

Myself Conjectured were they Pearls -

What Necklaces could be -

The Dust replaced, in Hoisted Roads -

The Birds jocoser sung -

The Sunshine threw his Hat away -

The Bushes - spangles flung -

The Breezes brought dejected Lutes -

And bathed them in the Glee -

The Orient showed a single Flag,

And signed the fête away -

 

"Of uncontested summer all things raise- Plainly their seeming into seamless air." - Wilbur

 

Gjertrud Hals- Eir, 2019, Photo: Sjur Fedje

JUNE LIGHT

Richard Wilbur

1921 – 2017

Your voice, with clear location of June days,

Called me outside the window.  You were there,

Light yet composed, as in the just soft stare

Of uncontested summer all things raise

Plainly their seeming into seamless air.

 

Then your love looked as simple and entire

As that picked pear you tossed me, and your face

As legible as pearskin’s fleck and trace,

Which promise always wine, by mottled fire

More fatal fleshed than ever human grace.

 

And your gay gift—Oh when I saw it fall

Into my hands, through all that naïve light,

It seemed as blessed with truth and new delight

As must have been the first great gift of all.

 

 

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"light breached through" - Ser Hibardiyan

Marit Beer

light breached through

the poorly opaque curtain

illuminates

the drops of color

broken off

from the unruly bristles

bundled to made sit at

the end of the

neat stick

just like morning hair

refusing to behave

- Ser Hibardiyan