The Swallows by Felix Bracquemond
The Well Rising
The well rising without sound,
the spring on a hillside,
the plowshare through deep ground
everywhere in the field-
The sharp swallows in their swerve
flaring and hesitating
hunting for the final curve
coming closer and closer-
The swallow heart from wing beat to wing beat
counseling decision, decision;
thunderous examples. I place my feet
with care in such a world.
I've been trying to write a swallow poem for the better part of my life. I ran across this the other day and thought, well, there it is. Not by me, but there it is.
Beautiful poem by the beautiful William Stafford.
It is with great sadness I note the passing of one of the greatest singer/songwriters of his generation: Jesse Winchester. He came into the public eye when he emigrated to Canada to avoid the draft and his first self-titled album was produced by the Band's Robbie Robertson (and the Band plays on two cuts).
Give a listen to his little known masterpiece, 3rd Down, 110 to Go - once you start, it's hard to stop. Rest in piece, friend.
Photo by Tom Soper
on the grass blade's tip
a red dragonfly
translated by David G. Lanoue