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.
GURRESONGS:
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)
They are celebrating National Tree Week in England from 24th November – 2nd December 2018. What a great idea.
I think England has a lovely tradition celebrating their trees. That gives hope for the future.
The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way.
Some see Nature all ridicule and deformity, and some scarce see Nature at all.
But to the eyes of the man of imagination, Nature is Imagination itself.
William Blake, 1799, The Letters.
The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight…
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
HANNA'S WALK 
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