matilda-woodhouse
I'm fairly new to poetry; hardly written any before....I am mainly a prose writer- flash fictions and working on a novel. Yet, upon listening to Ludwig van Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony one late night in March '14 inspiration flowed....his music is auditory poetry; a man who could not hear too well, yet heard what we all need to hear- his glorious music. / / I live in a city in a small house full of books, many of them vintage and some Victorian editions of John Keats' poetry, with a hundred year old piano, a 1930s gramophone, curios and my dreams. / / I long to live in the country....
Hirtengesang. Frohe und dankbare Gefühle nach dem Sturm (Shepherds' song; cheerful and thankful feelings after the storm)
Droplets shaken,
fall from the old hat
as sensitive fingers
send them
back home.
Sunlight warms
brown faces,
knotty hands clasped
in thanks and joy.
Muted voices,
in the ears
of a silent man
walking away,
his notebook carrying
the sounds he hears in his soul.
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC
Gewitter, Sturm (Thunderstorm)
Water falls
on the page
and taps the battered hat.
Voices rise
over the groans in the sky.
Seeking the arms
of the trees
sodden bodies huddle together
as one
shrugs into his coat
and raises his eyes to the Heavens.
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
Lustiges Zusammensein der Landleute (Happy gathering of country folk)
Piping rises in the air,
rough fingers tapping a rhythm
as earth stained feet
circle to nature's beat.
A scherzo of blurring colours
and laughter
seeping into the ink
of Beethoven's notebook.
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
Szene am Bach (Scene at the brook)
Reflections in the water-
gold undulates into the blue;
windows into other eyes
seeing anew.
Hearing with the heart,
ink stained fingers
scratch across the page.
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC
(First Movement: Erwachen heiterer Empfindungen bei der Ankunft auf dem Lande (Awakening of cheerful feelings upon arrival in the country)
Leaves blow in the breeze
the music of trees
carried in the wind
to the ears who can hear
the symphony of nature.
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 8:36 PM UTC
Ludwig van Beethoven had a wretched cook;
who could make him a good soup?
He got in a mood and threw a book,
as the servant was such a fool,
to lie and act like a mule.
Ach! ***** Beethoven complains;
bad cooking gives him pains.
Only those whose heart is pure, will not find,
their soup on the floor.
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC