Ode to the Schwarzwald (Satis Shroff)

A poem about the seasonal changes in the Black Forest, Germany where the poet lives.

 

 

ODE TO THE SCHWARZWALD (Satis Shroff)

 

Ach, February you’ve left us

As you came,

With your cold breeze,

Frosty and rich in snow.

 

Many a morning we had to shovel,

The tons of white mass,

Which you left behind

As your wintry legacy.

 

The wild boars and deer

Were circled by the Black Forest,

A sanctuary from the encroachment

Of  Man,

But now the circle is disappearing,

Leaving Nature’s children unprotected.

 

The foresters drive the forest’s denizens together,

And I warn the deer,

With blasts from my vuvuzela.

An unequal hunt,

In which the unprotected animal

Is shot by the armed forester.

 

When they built the Schwarzwald Highway,

Workers from here and elsewhere,

Cut down proud trees,

Used dynamite to create

Tunnels and roads,

Made incursions

Into the fabled Black Forest.

 

People came and became farmers

In the valleys and spurs of the Schwarzwald.

Now the young have education,

And seek new jobs elsewhere in the towns,

And have left the Schwarzwald homesteads

Of their ancestors.

 

As the World War II generation

Breathe their last,

Can we blame the sons and daughters,

Who seek work to suit their brains?

Brain is victorious against brawn,

As people acquire more knowledge,

Multimedia whatsapps,

And degrees from universities.

The globe has become a village,

And the whisper of fields unsown,

Is drowned by the din and lure of modernity.

 

Yet there is hope,

For with a degree,

You can work

In the tourism industry,

When craggy mountains become assets.

People pay to climb peaks,

Or ski down the slopes,

Of the Schwarzwald, the Alps and Dolomites.

 

The wild mountains have been tamed,

Ravished by Man,

To serve his purpose.

If it doesn’t snow,

Why, just turn on the snow-machine.

Wellness or adventure,

When you’re prepared

To pay with plastic cards.

The Black Forest farms, forests and fields,

Are still covered

With a white mantle of snow,.

The tree silhouettes throw long shadows

On the slopes,

The misty shrouds rise above to the sky,

Creating the impression of pines trees,

Reigning over the clouds.

 

The snow and ice gathered on the rooftops

Come down with a thunderous roar,

In the middle of the night.

We call it Dachlawine:

A roof avalanche.

 It’s the month of March,

The ice tries to defend itself

Against the smiling sun,

That breaks through the clouds.

The ponds and lakes show defiance,

Only to give in after some time,

For Surya’s rays are strong.

The icy sentinels collapse in defeat.

The frost on the twigs, branches and trees

Dwindle faster than they appeared.

The pearly dew disappears.

 

A light blue has descended

In a hurry.

The shepard from Kappel lights his pipe,

To enjoy the sunshine amid bleats.

He likes the harbinger of Spring,

For Spring means hope,

For the thrush, blackbird and his sheep.

 

Eichelheer, blackbirds and crows,

Hares and foxes appear in the meadows,

To bask in the soothing warmth of the sun.

This is the season of Brautschau,

When pairing begins.

Even the deer have come down

From the otherwise dark pine forest,

Now still laden with snow.

Snow everywhere,

In the forest and meadows.

 

It’s slushy, slippery to trudge.

When the sun laughs,

Snow and ice melt away.

The earth is not naked,

Stubbles of green grass

Are to be seen.

Life is appearing,

After the long, cold hibernation.

 

Majestic and serene,

The languidly moving clouds

Change their hues,

As the peaks and the sky in the distance

Appear yellow, orange and crimson.

The people walking along the high road

Become silhouettes of caricatures,

Held far away.

 

Long shadows appear

As the sun goes down.

The birds are settling for the night,

The mice in the meadows are bolting gleefully

Through the stubbly grass,

In and around the forests of Lindenberg.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Blaise]

A very nice picture. Just a word of advice: if ever you are interested in having your work published, never submitt your work with the font spaced across the middle of page.

[Satis Shroff]

Thanx for the tip Blaise, but out here I take the freedom to place the poem as I please. Time are a-changing and if you have a picture to go with the poem you have the option to place it to the left, right or middle. It's the content that matters in the long run, not the Gestaltung,eh?