Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Dacha

Spending seven fastidious days sorting freshness
With my lungs. A sea of air shifting
Eternal sands, in a place where time
Has a quality of energy about it, not
Because something must be done but
Because it can warm and cool your skin
Like sunlight. Tea in the afternoon in the
Yard from the smoky samovar, cold cuts,
Cheese, hardy bread, lettuce freshly
Picked and washed, sweet cherry tomatoes,
Still smelling like sunshine on the ground,
Hands that smell like summer rain in the trees
After you wash them in cold, clear spring water,
I am healed where doctors can’t check.

6 comments:

Roger Stevens said...

Hey, that's almost a sonnet. Nice poem.

Sorting freshness, eh? Here autumn's on the way and the garden's not very fresh at all. Still a few tomatoes ripening, beans growing and courgettes swelling - but everything's starting to slow and brown.

Met a rat in the greenhouse. It made me jump. I think it was after the last cucumber.

Russell Ragsdale said...

Thanks Roger, you're right. I like the sonnet form a lot but I didn't realize I slip into it unconsciously. Passing Time was a formal sonnet; the next poem I posted after that was also a sonnet (although not so strictly) but, after your comment, I discovered Day for My Angel was also a sonnet, although I didn't realize it. Amazing, thanks for the clue!

We are also finishing up the season here. I was just remembering the spring in this poem.

Glad you liked this!

Sue hardy-Dawson said...

Is it me or is there a sadness running through this? The serface is all reality and colour yet it's like it's saying something else as well

Russell Ragsdale said...

Thanks Sue! If there is any sadness underlying here, it is that the rest of life cannot be this good!

Cocaine Jesus said...

Wonderful poem! Reminded me of two things at once. The simple beauty of our holiday 'home' in Scotland where the air is so fresh and everything seems so green and where we go to enjoy the simple joys of life.
It also reminds me, on the other side of the weather/temperaure scale and our summer holidays in France where we embrace the warmth and sunshine and flavours of the French.

I certainly like the line . . .
'I am healed where the doctors can't check'

Ain't that the truth?

Russell Ragsdale said...

So Glad you liked this CJ! Glad it brought up pleasant things for you.