Gix' first pix (unaltered): I took my new baby out for a walk in the Common today. We felt like tourists, him strung around my neck like that. There wasn't much to see we decided, til I saw the shadows below, crawling over equally matted roots, and remembered to look up.
Happy with Gix. Excited to see what the future will bring the two of us...
My Garden
Holding its sky tightly in its arms, the cloud,
wrapped in its cold, damp sheepskin.
The garden of leaflessness is alone,
day and night, with its pure, forlorn silence.
Its instrument the rain, its anthem the wind.
Its clothes is the cloak of nakedness.
And should it need a garment other than this,
the wind has woven many a flame of gold warp and weft.
Let it grow, or not, whatever wherever it wants,
or does not, there is no gardener or a passer by.
The garden of the downhearted,
does not await the arrival of any Spring.
If no warm beam of light emanates from its eyes,
and if no leaf of a smile grows on its face,
who says that the garden of leaflessness is not beautiful?
It foretells of conifers touching the sky,
now asleep in the coffin beneath the earth.
The garden of leaflessness, its laughter is tear-tinged blood.
Eternal, aloft his wild-mane yellow horse,
swaggers therein the king of the seasons, the Autumn.
wrapped in its cold, damp sheepskin.
The garden of leaflessness is alone,
day and night, with its pure, forlorn silence.
Its instrument the rain, its anthem the wind.
Its clothes is the cloak of nakedness.
And should it need a garment other than this,
the wind has woven many a flame of gold warp and weft.
Let it grow, or not, whatever wherever it wants,
or does not, there is no gardener or a passer by.
The garden of the downhearted,
does not await the arrival of any Spring.
If no warm beam of light emanates from its eyes,
and if no leaf of a smile grows on its face,
who says that the garden of leaflessness is not beautiful?
It foretells of conifers touching the sky,
now asleep in the coffin beneath the earth.
The garden of leaflessness, its laughter is tear-tinged blood.
Eternal, aloft his wild-mane yellow horse,
swaggers therein the king of the seasons, the Autumn.
Mehdi Akhavan Sales (not sure who translated, but best of the translations I've found online)
i found out about this poem from the movie 'certified copy' that i just watched today, and then i found this translation here on your blog which u had posted 3 years on this same date.. so just commenting on the coincidence of this.
ReplyDeleteWhat are the odds of me watching the same film on March 11, the same date as the blogpost and the same date as your comment, each years apart, and discovering this post and your comment. I am extending your comment on the coincidence of it all.
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DeleteOh my, what's going on here? Are we in a simulation? Mine was actually 4 years apart, your is 6 years apart from mine. So if the pattern holds we can expect another comment here on Mar 11 2030 :)
DeleteBeautiful pictures, beautiful poem. Thanks so much.
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