The box on the corner is now in its 14th year--one new poem (at least) each month. I haven't been using the blog for years, for a number of reasons. I'm starting anew because of the Covid-19 pandemic. It is not necessarily safe to be reaching into the box for a poem, as an average of 140 or so have each month, under the current circumstances. So I have provided information on the exterior of the box to allow folks to find the poem here if they are interested to see what I have written.
The blog includes a beautiful watercolor of the box. It is the work of Gabriel Campanario, the Seattle Sketcher, who publishes regularly in the Seattle Times.
This past month, as the seams of world order loosened, I was working at something completely unrelated. A seasonal poem, with obvious inspiration from the Fascist poet Ezra Pound. (Important poet, idiotic politics.) Oh, well. So one poem in two forms below:
Sōmer Ibēn Icŏmen
Hard-herted winter sōne passen
Ich ibēn wīnden mīn cōlden fāce
Thĕ air warmen whīle sŏmer ibēn icŏmen
Bēs and brĭddes taken to flīing
Bē fīnding flŏur, bĭrde fīnding bē
The softe sŏun of sŏmer ayēn-cŏming
Ich cŏnnen hēren this forest līves
Yŏng squireles behīnd mōder this night
Ich iben not mi-self al-ōn hēr
Rein softenen this păth
Mīn shō slīden adoun as ich clīmben this hil
Ich lōken bifōre face bifōre the wind
---
The Summer Nears
The hard-hearted winter will soon pass
I expose my cold face to the wind
The air is warming as summer nears
Birds and bees take flight
Bee finding flower, bird finding bee
The soft sounds of summer are returning
I can hear this living forest
Young squirrels follow their mothers at night
I am not alone here
Rain softens the trail
My feet slip as I climb the hill
I look forward with the wind
