Like a buoyant thrush
In the happy wind above young meadows,
My arms know you are light, come.
We will forget this world,
Its ills and curses and the sky,
And my blood that is quick to war,
Forget those passes mindful of shadow
In the flush of new mornings.
Where the light no longer moves a leaf,
Our dreams and troubles gone to other shores,
Where evening rests,
Come I will lead you
To the hills of gold.
Free from age, time being still,
In its lost halo
Will our sheet be.
Giuseppe Ungaretti, Where the Light
(tr. by Patrick Creagh)
In the happy wind above young meadows,
My arms know you are light, come.
We will forget this world,
Its ills and curses and the sky,
And my blood that is quick to war,
Forget those passes mindful of shadow
In the flush of new mornings.
Where the light no longer moves a leaf,
Our dreams and troubles gone to other shores,
Where evening rests,
Come I will lead you
To the hills of gold.
Free from age, time being still,
In its lost halo
Will our sheet be.
Giuseppe Ungaretti, Where the Light
(tr. by Patrick Creagh)
un mariage parfait des mots et des images.... magnifique comme toujours!
ReplyDeleteI am burning, Roxana, even inside silence.
ReplyDeletePerfect.
Aus dem kleinsten Funken wird oft der größte Brand.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful. Just beautiful. I feel transported to another world.
ReplyDeleteI think if Vincent Van Gogh were still alive, and young, burning like he was at 23, I think he would have fallen head over heels in love with the Floating Bridge, had he seen it, and been off on his way to the distant lands of Romania to set up his easel in a shed and paint with the artist animating the Bridge, and together they would have created canvas covered with flaming energy, simmering on the verge of spontaneous combustion, the light thus generated would create such a halo in the night sky that wise men would be off on their camels bearing gifts... crossing one bridge after another to cross continents to find the final Floating Bridge leading to... ? Leading to a beautiful place full of golden light and vast horizons and space, space... wide open spaces with grasslands where the wind whispers, whispers of floating dreams, of bridges dreamed, of peace, yes peace more complete than ever known...
ReplyDeleteOh Maestra.
ReplyDeleteungaretti! where did that come from! lol
ReplyDeleteit's the last for me. obviously i think - probably!
I am stunned sometimes when I come to your site I(oftentimes, actually). This is one of those times. What beauty!
ReplyDeletece galben, ce galben!!! am furat putin si mi-am pus pe desktop :)
ReplyDeleteRoxana...voltaste a séries fantásticas de imagens...a tua forma de olhar...que eu aprecio!
ReplyDeletei was just quietly picking flowers at Enna when the earth opened up! Who could have known? Man, i need a holiday! (recast effortlessly as a comedy). Dearest, your autumnal eyes ...
ReplyDeletei'll start again...
your chimerical eyes daringly dissemble the paroxysm of autumn's harsh and effete ways. What secret gaze will you preserve for the iridescent light of spring?
Your final four images are an imprimatur of light everlasting.
After a migratory interlude, i'm glad to see the ever-encompassing (ever-forgiving) bridge in its native place. You too?
Roxana,
ReplyDeleteYou light my fire!
Cheers,
K'line
Th title of your post,in itself, was enough.
ReplyDeleteI wish I could drift into the wonderful yellow world of pics 2 and 6.
ReplyDeleteYour sensitive attention to light has drawn me in. I found you through another link, Pics and Poems.
ReplyDeletePlease visit me and comment, follow.
I am inspired by your work. I've just started a blog and am finding my way around.
Thanks, keep up the rhythm of the light.
Cette lumière jaune, or, dorée, ocre, est un rêve ! Une ruée vers l'or ! J'adore ce texte si flamboyant et cette tâche de sang sur ses lignes...
ReplyDeleteLa prairie s'embrase. Ce feu purifie la terre et la lumière en devient intense, si intense que je vois tout jaune maintenant autour de moi ! ! ! ... J'ai la peau qui semble devenir chaude... Ma tête tourne... Je vois des flammes devant mes yeux... Ma vue se brouille, devient floue... Merde ! je suis trop près de la cheminée et mon pantalon est entrain de cramer ! ! ! Roxana... tes photos me font tellement planer que je me suis brûlé !... Aïe !
Good Night !...;-)
Bises,
Jeff
roxana,
ReplyDeleteyour place is much more ORGANIC
than mine of full of capitalistic chemicals.. :p
i love the horizons of wile grasses.. like to camp in the night with camp fire gazing the stars high above..
hi my fair lady.. who resembles her Mother Nature.. :-)
Line, merci de tout coeur, comme toujours :-)
ReplyDeleteS., i know, my shaded soul.
Robert, und wenn der Wunden Brand gestillt ist, lasse ich meinen leisesten Wind, fast einen Hauch, über deine Seele wehen... Augenblick des Trostes und der Versöhnung, in dem man sich nicht mehr hinter den eigenen Flügeln zu verstecken braucht. nicht wahr? wird das je möglich sein?
Trée, perhaps that is why we are here, no? all of us? to feel like this from time to time, that we can leave behind the world we know and enter some other realm, even if for a very short time...
ReplyDeleteOwen, if i were an easy prey for compliments and praise, i would be now in the seventh sky (do you say this in English as well? :-): Von Gogh falling in love with the Bridge, hahaha, and "head over heels"?!! not even in my most intense self-delusion episodes could i have come up with such a story :-))))
but what you don't know is that Van Gogh maintains his own blog:
here
and we could easily test your theory, i should just leave a comment there and see if he comes to the Bridge and what happens next :-)
meanwhile i am pondering his words, i think my post has tried to express the same:
"I don’t know if you’ll understand that one can speak poetry just by arranging colours well, just as one can say comforting things in music. In the same way the bizarre lines, sought out and multiplied, and snaking all over the painting, aren’t intended to render the garden in its vulgar resemblance but draw it for us as if seen in a dream, in character and yet at the same time stranger than the reality."
merc, you know? every time i look at my open fields images, i long for your Space - i haven't achieved that yet.
swiss, but why? :-) do you have something against Ungaretti?!
ReplyDeleteah, Manu, şi încă nu este galbenul cel mai galben, mai am altele, să vedem cum o sa le găsesc loc :-)
dear Elizavetta, thank you so much for your kindness, it's the greatest pleasure to welcome you here on the Bridge, i often struggle with the same, a "translation of light"...
Adelino, hello, i have missed your presence! i am glad you found something you like and i hope you exhibition went well, as your work deserve...
Roxana
ReplyDeleteEu sempre venho aqui...mesmo que algumas vezes de forma silenciosa...
eu aprecio realmente o seu trabalho...
and i am very grateful for that, Adelino... thank you for saying this, it means a lot to me...
ReplyDeleteI should have guessed that Van Gogh's ghost is keeping a blog... and though you may not be easy prey for compliments, and not prone to self-delusion, perhaps you were at least for a fleeting second in a second sky, if not a seventh heaven, as we say...
ReplyDeleteBy all means, leave a comment, and see if Van Gogh's ghost does not comme wandering, perhaps we could hold a séance over a ouija board and ask the spirits to proclaim if yes or no Monsieur Van Gogh would have taken a strong liking to the Floating Bridge could he have seen it ??? I am but a humble observer, but I've been to Amsterdam, been to Arles, been to Auvers sur Oise, the church, the graveyard, the Barnes Foundation, le Jeu de Paume, when there was such a place, seeking the ghost of Van Gogh, and once, behind a golden haystack, he whispered to me, that the Floating Bridge was how he returned to Earth from more distant places...
Now who is being self-delusional... forgive me my moments of folly...
:-)
ha, Owen, i said i was not an _easy_ prey, but prey i was indeed, i am human after all (though i know there are rumours spred by a certain mr. toad about my alleged witch blood :-)
ReplyDeletehow could it be otherwise since i am myself totally in love with Van Gogh? so no, don't expect that i should ever try to hinder your self-delusional moments, if that is their result :-)
(thank you, dear Owen and also dear Grenouille, i will answer your other comment later)
je ne sais pas si tu à remarquer je ne suis pas un intellect plutôt un pragmatique je préfère de loin les actes aux mots; Roxana tu es très littéraire depuis que tu as ce blog je remarque tu as de plus en plus admirateur(euse) jen suis très heureux pour toi, je veux dire que tu expose ici pas des photos mais des aquarelles surtout une dominante l'orange, simplement pour te dire go vers les plus haut. Ton Ami Alain
ReplyDeleteGreat!
ReplyDeletechimerical Prospero
ReplyDelete(still lost in the bitter-sweet dreams of dark fruits with red flesh and mythological raptures, i'm afraid it will take me a while - and some effort! - to recast their lingering shadows as a comedy)
being born in march, i had always thought spring to be my season, until i couldn't deny the evidence any longer - that my soul was one of autumn... long before you came on the Bridge, i had one line instead of "all time is unredeemable", from a dearest poet, Trakl: “O how quietly, the garden decayed in autumn’s brown stillness”…
(see the strangest coincidence, the haunting garden)
but who could tell where the Bridge's native place is? i myself have long forgotten that, if i have ever known it...
K'line, on your rose bed, what will the fire do, how will it burn - wondering wondering...
bises :-)
Kubla, hi
if you had said: "these are the worst images i have ever seen" would still have been a compliment compared to that :-)
i shouldn't have bothered with them at all, i see - normally you used to say the opposite, that the words were superfluous next to my images - so hard to please, the Disquiet one! :-)
Jeff :-) c’était certainement loin de mon intention de mettre du feu à tes vêtements, j’espère que tu as survécu l’incendie – mais comme le feu est purificateur, comme tu le dis toi-même, je me console à l’idée que même s'il vient de brûler, un nouveau Jeff est né comme le Phénix, plus brillant et passionnant que jamais!!! :-)
ReplyDelete(hélas, je doute que le pauvre Pont Flottant ait vraiment cette puissance ... )
(rien à regretter, tu me fais toujours sourire avec ton incandescence)
hello camping Peter, i know of your unconditional devotion to Mother Nature, so i am more than pleased to read your words :-)
Allan, je suis heureuse de te lire de nouveau, oui je sais que tu es plutôt pragmatique, mais en même temps tu es aussi très sensible à la poésie visuelle, tes commentaires éclairent toujours bien des choses cachées dans mes images (surtout par rapport à la relation du photographe avec le monde photographié)...
thank you for your appreciation, JL Leal...
dear Sorlil, more yellow to come, soon :-)
ReplyDeleteDianne, thank you so much for visiting, i will come to see you soon as well! "the rhythm of the light", how lovely...
you have made the woods so tender, and yet flame.
ReplyDeletetwo as one. still. always.