Classic and Contemporary Poetry
EDVARD GRIEG, by CHARLES WHARTON STORK Poet's Biography First Line: The light across the fjord is very cool Last Line: The very scene I look on here tonight. Subject(s): Light; Love; Norway; Sea; Summer; Ocean | ||||||||
The light across the fjord is very cool Tonight, and in the fading summer sky The blue is softer than forgetmenots. The fjord itself, too -- what a delicate green, What an elusive, nixie-laving green, Caressed with silver! From its dusky rim Rise mighty rock-wall bastions, harsh enough, Except that down their craggy shoulders hang Thin veins of waterfalls -- one still can see Where the white threads meander on the black, Beyond, one guesses rather than discerns The shimmering snow-peaks, more like frozen clouds Or spellbound pinions of the cherubim Than any shape of earth. I love all this With passion that can sink me in a swoon For hours. And yet I think I love still more The little fringe of human life that parts The fjord-side from the foot of the great cliffs. The apple orchards are in fullest bloom, And I can fancy what the day would show; That on the squat stone huts the sodded roofs Are purple with wild pansies. By the shore The sturdy rowboats are unlading piles Of glinting salmon, while from time to time I hear the clank of cowbells. Peace is here And purity and strength, no less in folk Than landscape, and my heart breathes ecstacy So deep, so different from all else the world Can give, that often sadness weighs me down. No words, no colors can do more than hint The soul of Norway, with its hero tales, Its fairy legends, the adventure lust, The iron loyalty, the pastoral calm Kindled with exaltation -- all around Beauty of earth and sea and air, half bright, Half sombre, like this evening on the fjord; And human love, transfigured, rarified To something more of spirit than of flesh. There is a music seems to hover here Unheard, a presence rather than a sound. Or do invisible fingers trail across Aeolian chords within me? All I know Is that sometimes, like spirits of the wind, Strange little wisps of melody float up From my heart's chamber, by no will of mine, And I can catch them, living, behind bars On a white page. When others let them out, People may say, "Why, here's a novel use Of minor modulation." But a few, Listening in silence then, may let their thoughts Go dreaming far away across the sea, Till in a mingled mood of wistful joy And meditative sadness they behold The very scene I look on here tonight. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HALL OF OCEAN LIFE by JOHN HOLLANDER JULY FOURTH BY THE OCEAN by ROBINSON JEFFERS BOATS IN A FOG by ROBINSON JEFFERS CONTINENT'S END by ROBINSON JEFFERS THE FIGUREHEAD by LEONIE ADAMS A DIVER by CHARLES WHARTON STORK |
|