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Souvenirs illustrés de petits moments, balades, lectures, expositions....qui font le sel de la vie !

Wind from the sea - David Meade

L'anglais a été la première langue que j'ai apprise. Je me souviens encore du nom de ma première professeure, Mademoiselle Viss : celle qui a su m'initier au plaisir des langues étrangères, porte d'accès au Monde...

Alors pour continuer mes collages et autres balades poétiques, j'ai cherché de nouveaux sites de poésie sur les internets et ai trouvé ce beau poème que je dédie à mon amie V. en espérant qu'elle trouve bientôt le chemin de la guérison.

C'est le titre qui a retenu mon attention, puis l'illustration choisie : le thème de la fenêtre dans la peinture est un de mes préférés...

Wind from the sea - Andrew Wyeth

Wind from the sea - Andrew Wyeth


  
 

Andrew Wyeth spent most of his career doing watercolor painting of windows -- looking out windows and looking in windows . . .  very creative.  I have written a poem on one of his works entitled:  Wind From The Sea.  This is my imagination and does not reflect Mr. Wyeth thoughts about his work. 


 

Inspired by Andrew Wyeth Watercolor Painting -- Wind From the Sea, 1947


Standing in the old house
A strange mixture of feelings erupt within me
My roommates Depression, Loneliness, and Hopelessness
Greet me with strangling arms and leering grins
I don’t fight them anymore – somehow they are a part me
So together, in this house, in this room
We endure the somber solitude of the day

A sudden chill fills the room
Death enters – its foul breath chokes me
My three companions prostrate themselves
Pressure builds in my bowels
Bile rises in my throat
A heavy weariness fills my bones
He’s calling – hissing my name
I can’t breath

Death surrounds my soul – crushing me 
I hear groaning  . . .
Strange guttural sound -- it’s coming from me
Deep painful darkness fills me
I beg Death to take me . . .

Through the open window
A gush of wind enters
A sheer curtain hanging comes to life
It’s spirit lifts inwards and up beckoning me to dance 

What is this wonder?
A limp ragged curtain – faded, stained, frail -- has life
Reaching toward me . . .  frayed fingers of thread motioning
Old friends rush to me – Joy, Hope, Love
Death’s grip slips – I gasp a breath
Looking up I see the open window
Boarded by old bare wood, hard with age

I realize it’s daylight now – soft shadows 
A curving road leading to the water
I can taste the saltiness in the wind
Trees in the distance
A calling from the sea
Seagulls, waves, laughter

Joy breaths into my nostrils 
Leave this place – Depression cannot hold you
Simple pleasures I will give you
   Cool breeze on a summer afternoon
   Laughter of friends
   A walk in the garden
   A book
   The Sea . . . 

Depression laughs in my ears
Through that window lies heartache, treachery, poverty, misery
It will chew your insides up – blood will pour from your lips
Pain and suffering awaits if you leave this house
Death waits to take you home 
An end to this constant noise – the peace of total emptiness 

Another breeze and Hope fills my eyes with light
I see colors – vibrant alive filling me with warmth
Leave this place, take a journey to the sea
Let light fill you and be your guide . . . see -- opportunities abound
For laughter, love, forgiveness . . . for life – abundant life
See the rainbow upon the Sea

Hopelessness rushes toward me
Kisses my lips and whispers
Light burns and blinds
Enslaves you
They will see clearly your secrets
Spotlight focus – ridicule scorn . . . ugly disgust . . .  self-hatred

Love rushes in and embraces me
Light, fresh, empowering
My heart leaps with pleasure
Arm and arm she leads me to the window
Much pain and sorrow – yes . . .  also Love
A powerful love that transforms, refreshes . . . frees
Breathe deeply of the Sea air – fill your lungs
Go – you are loved deeply and completely

Looking out Looking in


David Meade
01/07/2015


Live Generously
Copyright © David Meade | Year Posted 2015

Wind from the sea - Edward B. Gordon

Wind from the sea - Edward B. Gordon

Le titre de la peinture est resté le même. Mais la vision d'Edward B. Gordon me semble différente... en accord avec la fin du poème suggérée par David Meade....

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