"Spring is like a perhaps hand (which comes carefully out of Nowhere)..." - e e cummings
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“You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep Spring from coming.”- Pablo Neruda "Fold your arms round me close and strain me so that our hearts may break and our souls go free at last. Take me to that happy place of which you told me long ago. The fields whence none return, but where great singers sing their song forever."
Joseph Bedier, The Romance of Tristan and Iseult  It happened long time ago in a country that never existed. A happy country whose only inhabitants were gods of all sorts. Filled with insatiable longing for beauty, the almighty gods resolved to create a flower, a perfect flower, far more beautiful than all the flowers thriving in the endless and colourful meadows of the country. Surprisingly, the realisation of the dream appeared to be impossible, as the divine designers could not work out the shape for that perfect flower. All suggested forms fell short of their expectations. They were all too inferior. The initial enthusiasm slowly morphed into doubt and then despair, which had never been favourite emotions among gods. Suddenly, one of them cried that he had seen an ideal shape they might copy. It was...
There is a time of the year when it seems that fragments of the sky are scattered on the ground and they appear to be bluer than the bluest heavens. It's squill woken up by a spring sun rays, opening its bijou but unbelievably cobalt flowers.
In chorus, the air above the fields begins to fill with honey-like smell and the eyes do not have enough of the golden yellow catkins, the culprit of that commotion. Unnoticeable until yesterday, now goat willow is becoming fluffier and fluffier with every hour. Blue squill like peace, yellow catkins like ripen cereal. A beautiful couple. Do not go to the garden of flowers!
O Friend! go not there; In your body is the garden of flowers. Take your seat on the thousand petals of the lotus, and there gaze on the Infinite Beauty. A helpless question. First frost bites are merciless and do not leave room for any hope. When you see your beloved dahlias without life, anger is usually the instant reaction although we were prepared for such an unsightly sight. Suddenly, the perspective of long dreary winter months becomes almost tangible. On the other hand, the idea of perpetual repetition of life-cycles seems incredible, hence childish indignation. But poor dahlias can help here. Their tuberous roots need to be dug up and this very physical activity forces us to concentrate on more down -to -earth thoughts and actions. I am positive that not only dahlias can give us a helping hand and save a lot of energy we might squander on depressing divagations like...the idea of passing. I know, I know, it is all unavoidable. OK, I understand, but before I accept it, I want to deceive myself and enjoy the last happy moments when the world looked definitely more colourful, however vulnerable. Just before the unwelcome thrusts of inevitable and ruthlessly cold nights. Why not accompany me?
 I I think, I dreamed of falling leaves, Of dark forests and dark lakes, Of sad words' echo - However, I could not understand their meaning. I think, I dreamed of falling stars, Of the weeping entreaty of pale eyes, Of a smile's echo - However, I could not understand its meaning. Like falling leaves, like falling stars, So I saw myself eternally coming and going, A dream's immortal echo - However, I could not understand its meaning. Georg Trakl |
AuthorI was destined to be born gardener. In order to become a professional one I had to enjoy years of studying at various schools and universities... read more Archives
May 2017
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