Wingecarribee River walk video CL Rolfe
L’Orage parmi l’herbe
À l’aube, un lever de soleil,
clair dans nos esprits d’une bonne journée.
Mais les fantômes du temps et veille haine,
restez à l’affût.
Car il y a de nouveau la guerre dans beaucoup d’endroits,
paix dans d’autres régions.
Certains sacrés, d’autres sans importance,
nous rappeler le cercle du karma.
Pour ceux qui ont du temps à perdre,
nous regardons vers le ciel, sans peur dans nos yeux.
Un orage d’été se lève, l’odeur de l’ozone,
la merveille de l’éclairet, le crescendo de l’herbe bruissement.
Nous nous inquiétons des dommages causés par la grêle aux voitures
la noyade des fondations.
Et dans les saisons de toutes les saisons, PDG,
les dévots en état de choc se réfugient ensemble, saluant Marie, d’avoir accepté.
Les stoïques s’assoient et s’en sortent, se pliant
avec pluie battante, s’accrochant à un rayon de soleil.
Peut-être demain à l’aube,**
un siège sur lequel se reposer.
Notre l’orage est majestueux, une tyrannie de courte durée,
l’eau messianique comparée à la sécheresse.
Nous pouvons être reconnaissants pour notre peu de tristesse,
dans d'autres endroits, les aubes dorées doivent attendre.
Storm among the grass
On the dawn, a sun rises,
clear in our minds of a good day.
But the ghosts of time, old hatred
lie in wait.
For there is war again in many places,
peace in other parts.
Some sacred, others less important.
reminding us of the circle of karma.
For those with time to spare,
we look toward the sky, no fear in our eyes.
A summer storm rises, the smell of ozone,
the wonder of lightning, rustling crescendo of grass.
We worry about the damage to our cars,
drowning foundations.
And in the seasons of all seasons, CEO’s,
shell-shocked devotees, bunker together, hailing Mary for agreeing.
The stoics sit and ride it out, bending under,
pelting rain, clinging for a slither of sun.
Perhaps tomorrow at daybreak,**
a seat to rest upon.
Our storm is majestic, with short lived tyranny,
messianic water compared to drought.
We can be thankful for our bit of gloom,
in other places, it seems gold dawns must wait.
Clare L Rolfe © 2023
I have been able to corral my thoughts for a final poem of 2023. I decided to translate this one to French, as a dedication to the Hugo. I was struggling to write the first line so defaulted to a few of my anchors to begin the process of forging as Char puts it. Demain, des l’aube by Victor Hugo - a sad poem acknowledging the need to grieve but one balanced with a refusal of succumbing completely with a dawn always in sight or the heather in full flower. The poem seemed to capture the mood most accurately and helped bring the words together. Its subject matter relevant to recent events around the world with multiple wars and those most impacted. But also appreciating our own privilege and luck here. Privilege and luck chosen to describe our lives in Australia, as with all things there is a mixture of deliberate action/nonaction mixed with randomness to explain most things, such as war and peace. Both require a form of consent to occur and an opportunity to bloom.