Zikaden/Cicadas

Die Zikaden schweigen im Schatten.
Der Tag war lang und schwer.
Der Wind ist zu warm.

Hier am Friedhof beim Meer
Sind die Bäume weiß bemalt.
Die Farbe schmilzt in der Hitze.

Unter den Blättern flüstern die
Zikaden mit dem Tod.
Und das Meer tobt.

Die Wolken reden vom Mond, der
Hinter den Bergen schwebt
Um die Nacht zu täuschen.

Später singen die Zikaden ins gelbe
Licht des steigenden Mondes
Bis die Dämmerung Morgen wird.

R 14.07.2023 00.57

For those of you who don’t speak German, there’s an English-language version below. I prefer the German version, because that’s the language in which the poem first entered my head, and the words have a better weight than the English ones.

The cicadas are silent in the shade.
This day was long and difficult.
The wind is too warm.

Here in the graveyard by the sea
The trees are painted white.
The colour melts in the heat.

Under the leaves the cicadas
Whisper with Death.
And the sea rages.

The clouds speak of the moon which
Hovers behind the mountains
To deceive the night.

Later, the cicadas sing into the
Yellow light of the rising moon
Until the dawn becomes day.

R

Talking of language, today was my last time on the Stephen Bumfrey Show before he retires. And, oddly enough, we started speaking about language and its weights and meanings, and how it can be used in all sorts of different ways. Kind of appropriate for the closing of an 11-year era of doing shows with a man who has become my friend. I’ll post the link tomorrow, if I remember.