The singer stopped singing,
still, there’s a song
in the air.
The candle flame went out
but Fire does not cease
to exist.
Life / Death.
Matter and Spirit.
This world and the Hereafter.
It’s exactly the same.
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
illustration: Fire Painting F31
(Yves Klein, 1961)
How nice to stand
in the morning light
as the oak leaves turn gold
and life comes to an end.
How nice to be
followed by a bird
when silence meets
Silence.
How nice to see
through the Veil space and time
surprisingly intertwined
with one another.
The Eye and the World.
The Beauty of Autumn.
Consciousness. Endlessness.
Emptiness.
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
illustration: the Messenger of Autumn
(Paul Klee, 1922)
I did not notice
when swifts left.
Did they fly west?
Did they fly south?
They were master acrobats
rising, falling, racing,
fearlessly grazing
the edge of Eternity.
The blue fields of freedom
now look empty:
Grace will remain
an unfathomable mystery.
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
illustration: Common Swifts
(Bruno Liljefors, 1886)
Men like to build stone temples
with heavy studded doors
that they close properly
when they pretend to worship.
Do they really love each other?
Walk your own way and go
where the gardener kneels
every day,
where the Tree grows slowly,
where the Flower chants humbly
and where the patient Star shines
for every Pilgrim:
God loves Gardens.
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
Les hommes aiment construire
des temples de pierre
avec de lourdes portes cloutées
qu’ils ferment au jour de la prière.
S’aiment-ils vraiment les uns les autres ?
Passe ton chemin et va,
là où le jardinier
chaque jour s’agenouille,
là où l’Arbre grandit lentement,
où la Fleur psalmodie humblement
et où l’Etoile patiente brille
pour chaque pèlerin :
Dieu aime les jardins.
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
illustration: Stained Glass Window (The Mysterious Garden)
(Odilon Redon, c1905)
My garden, my heaven,
I wonder who will listen
to the cherry tree spirits.
Will the rain quench your thirst?
And who will see the wandering
soul of the purple blue thistle?
My garden, my heaven,
I remember Winters. I remember Summers.
How brave snowdrops were!
How worthy the lily was!
But the hour is fast approaching:
I will soon be leaving
and I must pray for you.
May seasons be sweet. May children
marvel at your many wonders.
May you become
their Garden, their Heaven.
Frédéric Georges Martin
~
illustration: Daubigny’s Garden
(Vincent Van Gogh, 1890)
¡Atlántico infinito, tú que mi canto ordenas! (Tomás Morales)
When I saw Him again
El Atlántico infinito
neither salt nor blueness
burned my eyes.
The forceful Wave
did not break my heart
but the wind went through
my body
and my soul
dissolved into vast space
sang the Song of eternal Life
El Atlántico infinito.
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
¡Atlántico infinito, tú que mi canto ordenas! (Tomás Morales)
Et quand je L’ai revu
El Atlántico infinito
ni le sel ni l’azur
ne m’ont brûlé les yeux.
La vague violente
n’a pas brisé mon coeur,
mais le vent a traversé
mon corps
et mon âme
en l’infini dissoute
a chanté le chant de la vie éternelle
El Atlántico infinito.
© Frédéric Georges Martin
la mer à Puerto de la Nieves © 2017– F.G.M.
I was a shadow child,
prodigal son guided by
the careful hands of Forgiveness,
lost soul made of star dust,
younger brother of words like
orphan and light.
I learned little by little
both from short lives
and long silences.
I finally became
a man of no importance:
I was everyone
and everyone was me.
The starry sky had reminded me
who I really am.
© Frédéric Georges Martin
~
illustration: Star of the Hero
(Nicholas Roerich 1936)
