Poem -
(i) Fading Fire
When daylight falls asleep,
what then is left of the borders?
Will I dream as usual,
for as long as the brook runs?
In the jaded day
a birch keeps an afterglow,
yet an oak already cloaks itself
in the darkness
of the newborn night,
while <unhigh above the horizon>
a sickle of the moon
is harvesting clouds −
liminal
unheimish
cornered
boundaries are waiting:
how will they be mapped,
closed or open?
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Comments
Stunning John
There is a potency to this poem. Entwining the reader into the depths of natures heartbeat
loved reading this.
Worded to perfection
Gwen x
Thank you for loving this, it is part 1 of a series of five about boundaries and inner child stuff. Am trying to find the time to translate the original Dutch poems... The picture is the part of the cemetary where my dad is buried, looking very liminal and around all kinds of boundaries
Loving this photograph. I'm enjoying your posts.
Best,
Rodeo
Thank you, the photograph was taken by my wife the day we laid my father's ashes in his grave (with my own bare hands) in this cemetry, about 8 years ago - it fitted the theme of dusk/liminality/uncertain boundaries (boy, there were many of those boundaries between me and my father)...
Wow fab imagery and great nature terms presented in this superb muse. Kudos for the poem!
Plz also read my poem and leave a comment too.
A beautiful and deep write John x
F, n good question.
What answers are you referring to see.
Or the sea calling thee.
Life of times and tide over the world of king and low.
The string of existence is a tentative one.
Love your writing.
Thank you very much for being you.
🎄🌹🦋
Hi, Liliana, first of all this poem is the first in a series that turned out five (originally written in my native language (Dutch) - hopefully I find the piece of mind next week (a week off from work) to get the rest translated. Originally the wife and me, we were walking the village roads one evening and found a corner that qualified as liminal space. A bit further on, while the sun was setting, I noticed the difference between an oak tree soaking up the last light and a birch having a sort of afterglow. This somehow launched me into my past and gave me an inkling of a new insight into my very self-centered (just not narcistic like my wife's parents were) parents and the serious neglect growing up (raising so many boundaries that life was no fun for a long, long while. The past five years have been spent breaking them down, but always I find new inner children behind new boundaries that were still not cleared. So, when I wrote this peace, I was very uncertain which way it would go. Rest assured, still alive 🤗
Thank you for being the first with an actual question on the meaning of the poem (I am an ancient English lit student from Amsterdam University - thesis on e.e.cummings)
Keep safe