“There’s been a fight going on!”
My first thought was that some people couldn’t agree on the bill at the little restaurant by the pond. But it turned out much more poetic.
The Cob had successfully defended his pen against another cob.
When I arrived to the pond, he was brushing the feathers as if it was a glorious knight armour and he certainly was impressive.
The sun shines from a sparkling blue sky and I feel an urge to see the thick patches of snow spread over my nearest landscape of wilderness.
The snow has already started to melt when I walk into the forest and I hear an unfamiliar sound among the trees.
That is snow, that reluctantly let go of the branches and falls to the ground. Not heavy as for snow which been around for weeks.
No, it’s the dust of snow that falls as in the poem by Robert Frost.
The door was shut, as doors should be,
Before you went to bed last night;
Yet Jack Frost has got in, you see,
And left your window silver white.
He must have waited till you slept;
And not a single word he spoke,
But pencilled o’er the panes and crept
Away again before you woke…
Gabriel Setoun, Jack Frost
One shade of blue for water, one for ice,
Another blue for shadows over snow.
The clear or cloudy sky uses blue twice-
Both different blues. And hills row after row
Are colored blue according to how far.
You know the bluejay’s double-blur device
Shows best when there are no green leaves to show.
And Sirius is a winterbluegreen star.
Blue Winter by Robert Francis
I have never seen beech trees become so big. The trees form a tunnel which is wonderfully cooling on hot summer days.
‘If God in heaven will let me have Gurre, then I will let him have Heaven.’
Because of this blasphemy, King Valdemar is doomed to ride in Gurre every night
The romance and mystery associated with Gurre is created by many great poets.
The inspiration is easy to understand when you have wandered in Gurre and experienced the silence at dusk.
The bluish twilight now damper
every sound of sea and land,
the fleeing clouds are encamped
to rest on the edge of heaven.
Compacted to soundless weight
is the forest airy stay
and the lake’s clear waves
have cradled themselves to rest.
In the west, the sun casts
from her radiant purple dress
and pulls over the waves
and dreams of the day’s splendour.
Not the smallest leaf is moving
and call upon my senses,
Not the slightest sound is heard
that seduced the senses to dance.
No, every power is lost
in the river of dreams
and pushes me gently and silent
back to myself…
Jacobsen, J. P., Samlede Værker III, 1924-29
I did a translation of the first verse, Gurresange, despite the risk of violate the treasure from Jens Peter Jacobsen’s pen.
Gurre Songs is written by the Danish poet; Jens Peter Jacobsen
Rainer Maria Rilke learned Danish and translated Gurre Songs to German
Twelve Tone Music inventor, Arnold Schoenberg, composed music to Jens Peter Jacobsen’s Gurre Songs (Gurrelieder premiered in 1913 in Vienna)