Eastern River Poem by Peter Huchel

Eastern River

Rating: 2.7


Do not look for the stones
in water above the mud,
the boat is gone.
No longer with nets and baskets
the river is dotted.
The sun wick,
the marsh marigold flickered out in rain.

Only the willow still bears witness,
in its roots
the secrets of tramps lie hidden,
their paltry treasures,
a rusty fishhook,
a bottle full of sand,
a tine with no bottom,
in which to preserve
conversations long forgotten.

On the boughs,
empty nests of the penduline titmice,
shoes light as birds.
No one slips them
over children's feet.


Translated by Michael Hamburger

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Shelley Hornsby 28 August 2015

Beautiful imagery! I love this poem!

1 0 Reply
Edward Kofi Louis 28 August 2015

Nice work with the muse of nature.

0 0 Reply
Ramesh T A 28 August 2015

This poem says about the tragedy of a sunken boat with the description of remaining parts!

1 0 Reply
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Peter Huchel

Peter Huchel

Germany
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