Thursday, October 21, 2010

Harvest


In an ancient vineyard, among the gnarled stumps, a fig tree with a stone trunk wide enough to be a dwelling. No door — only a high fringe of tiny leaves with abundant fruit like eyes.

6 comments:

nouvelles couleurs - vienna atelier said...

oh such a nice vision William, here is harvest time too..
I remember a poeme of Carducci named San Martino...

"dal ribollir dei tini va l'aspro odro dei vini, l'animo a rallegrar..." :-)

jasmin said...

lieber William,oh was hattest du für einen schönen Traum die Nacht?
in lieben Gedanken Jasmin...

Wine and Words said...

You had me, at vineyard...

But then, the fruit like eyes.

William Michaelian said...

Laura, I love the music of that line....

Jasmin, who knows where these things come from? — a composite of longing and experience, perhaps, a message, hint, or prompt....

Annie, there were two old vineyards that flashed through my mind during the brief course of this dream. Both were south of Fresno, near Fowler, and are long since gone: one of ancient bearded Muscats standing free-form without stakes, the other of much taller White Malagas.

donnafleischer said...

You make each word work hard, William. You have to because there are so few of them working their way on this great mystery and the syntax is so matter of fact. What a tender wallop it packs! Thank you.

William Michaelian said...

Thank you, too, Donna. The best poems, perhaps, are those we don’t know we’re writing — or those that are writing us. Not that this is one of them, but such are the thoughts engendered by your observation.