Bilder des Vaters – Wörter der Tochter A Father’s Images – A Daughter’s Words
My father, now in his 90s, recently recovered from the shock of a fall. Brought to the fore, mortality reshuffles experiences – a mysterious process, different for everyone, young or old. Whether relationships are supportive or troubled by frustrated expectations, in the deep cavern of the psyche experiences assume fresh meaning when endings are contemplated, or happen suddenly. The unconscious speaks a surreal language.
A few years ago, my father took photos of a phenomenon on the island of Fuerteventura, where, in some places, when the tides recede, the white shingle derived from bleached shells and sea creatures mingles with the black sand of volcanic rock. The bizarre sand drawings my father came upon inspired me to write short lines in German, here with English translations. The alliance of images and words surprised us both, hinting at an underlying creative connection between us that could not have been otherwise expressed.
Im Sand träumt das Angesicht der Zeit … The Face of Time Dreams in Sands
1
Ich seh Dich, du siehst mich noch nicht.
Meine Stimme klingt von der Ferne
In deinem Muschelraum
Geheimnisvoll im Werden.
Manche glauben ich sei nur Sand,
Die irren sich gewaltig.
Ich bin ein Traum wie Du.
I see you – you don’t see me yet
My voice sounds from far away
In your snail chamber, secretly becoming
Some think I’m only sand
They’re mistaken
I am a dream – like you
2
Tränen waschen mich rein von der Macht
Das war mir eine Last.
Ich will ich mich nun auflösen
Im Gesang von schönen Symphonien.
Tears cleanse me of power
Which burdened me
Now I will dissolve
In tunes of beautiful symphonies
3
Ich bin ein komischer Vogel – mit Hörnern und Brüsten
Wie Du trag ich das schweigende Anglitz der fliessenden Zeit
I am a strange bird – with horns and breasts
Like you I wear the silent face of fluid time
4
Die blassen Gestalten um mich wollen mich beschützen
Als ob ich zu klein bin fur die Welt – vielleicht ahnen Sie
Dass ich ein Drache werden will der die Welt erschüttert
The pale figures surrounding me mean to protect
As if I was too small for the world – maybe they suspect
That I want to become a dragon to shake the world
5
Mein kleiner Tanz ist ansteckened – bald wird der ganze Strand
Bevölkert sein mit Kindern die Hände fassen in Ringelreihen
My little dance is catching – soon the whole beach
Will fill with children who hold hands in Ring a Ring o’ Roses
6
Vom Wind verwischt und verwandelt bin ich
Das restlose Gemüt einer schlafenden Seele
Blurred by the wind and transformed
I’m the restless mind of a sleeping soul
7
Meine Flügel sind mir ans Hirn gewachsen
Wer weiss who ich dahin mit segeln werde
Mein Herz blickt schon längst ins Unbekannte
My wings have grown to my brain
Who knows whereto I shall sail with them
My heart has long been gazing into the unknown
Images: Ludwig Weiss – Words: HMA Venema
And then there is ‘The Story of the Sands,’ one of my favourite Sufi stories. Here told by Terence Stamp: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oNasXE5_OTI
Course of Mirrors 
Reblogged this on philipparees and commented:
So much encapsulated in these poems by a very good friend. Do enjoy!
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Wonderful for all kinds of reasons, some stated, some not. The reading was a fitting ribbon to tie up what these imply. Lovely. Have reblogged
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Thanks Philippa, also for the reblog ☼
Many things are shifting in the sands.
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I fell last year, pulling a futon down the stairs, visitors coming; luckily, I fell on to the futon. A short story with a happy ending. Later, I tried to reconstruct the fall, and realized that falling is itself a kind of deconstruction of a moment. … Like very much the beach scene, the children, and the whole idea of paring the words with the abstract sand scenes. Good work.
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Thanks Jo. My father grumbled that people lacked imagination. He was curious what I’d see. That was a first. So the words arrived as in a mirror.
You had a lucky day. Falling is a peculiar sensation, deconststruction indeed, when we’re unable to catch the moment before we hit the ground. To start with, it takes us the best part of a year to rise. No wonder we long for wings.
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Oh Ashen, I can relate on SO many different levels. My husband is recovering from a serious surgery. However, he also has extremely low blood pressure so he passes out very easily. The doctors are working to rectify that problem, however his passing out has terrified me and his children. The end of life stage can be a shock, unexpected, and we are so ill prepared.
But your poetry matches your dad’s sand pictures so magically. I loved every word. What a wonderful connection for you to share with your father. I’m applauding you!
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So difficult for you, with worry ricocheting in your family. How not to be gripped by the anxiety and frustration that comes with lack of control? It’s also a challenge to change gear, to reduce speed. The reward is a kind of reframing. You touch on this in your last blog post. I, too, catch myself smiling at small incidents that I’d otherwise miss.
I’m happy the sand dialogue speaks to you. It’s never a given with images that arise from the dark.
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Beautiful photographs on which to ponder and reflect Ashen thank you. Shifting sands, shifting lives …a universe in a grain of sand. I wish your father well, and recovery from his fall …
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Thank you, Susan. Deep down all is well. In the light of day this father/daughter relationship is complicated, but it’s a blessing that nature continuously talks to us in private, shifting perceptions.
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It’s hard not to imagine that there is a message in those pictures so graciously donated by the tide. Lovely poems you got out of them.
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Thankyou Ashen.
I have been struggling to cross the sands, relying on tried and true methodology. I know the wind exists, however individuality precludes me broadening my resources.
As mortality confronts us, survival becomes paramount. The recent death of a friend leaves me with a sense of inertia, becalmed by the an in-willingness to trust the wind.
Joe’s futon episode inspires me to perhaps seek out the wind while constructing a soft landing should it be necessary.B
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Wow.. Beautiful photo, images and words. Thank you! It has reminded me of my dad on his skis, a photo taken by my mom before they were married in 1949. A lovely memory evoked on this snowy day. Will put on my skis now and join him in spirit in nature 🎿
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Join your dad in spirit … maybe do some snow painting …
Lucky you, to be skiing. I used to, decades ago, when the Alps were close and it snowed several feet, every winter. In the UK we had only a few lonely flakes sinking into the green grass this year.
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What a beautiful combination.
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Thank you, Cath ☼
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