Monday, September 29, 2014

Autumn and Primavera and Words

I try to photograph this grove of Big-Toothed Aspen every year when the bracken yellows and the graceful trunks show at their best, still holding the silvery-green leaves. It is west of the house, where the woods begin. The photographs always remind me of Botticelli's Primavera. It is something about the similar rectangular format, the trees at the right of the painting, the pastel palette and just an overall general sinuous quality. I took this picture today during a gentle rain.

There are many fine poems here; this one, by W. S.Merwin is eloquent 
on  a subject which had occupied many people who write.

To the Words

When it happens you are not there
oh you beyond numbers

beyond recollection

passed on from breath to breath

given again

from day to day from age

to age

charged with knowledge

knowing nothing
indifferent elders

indispensable and sleepless
keepers of our names

before ever we came

to be called by them
you that were

formed to begin with

you that were cried out

you that were spoken

to begin with

to say what could not be said
ancient precious

and helpless ones
say it

—W. S. Merwin

And I can never decide whether to show more or less of the ferns.

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