Heidrun Beer: Poetry


Time and Again


(c) 2010 by Heidrun Beer


time and again the search for understanding,
for helpful images, leads back to plants and trees.

their rootage, confused as it may seem, is clearly
structured, each fibre is assigned to its own
part of stem and leaves, assigned to its
own blossoms.

we too protrude into far futures which are already
surrounding us, stormy or quiet, while we still
grow into them. and each of our branches
is firmly rooted in the past.

which fruit that pleases us today would have
dropped off already as a blossom, had its root
met rock instead of fertile ground eons ago?
which flower, shining through the leaves,
will never grow into a fruit, will die
tomorrow, in hopelessly sun-baked soil?

who will starve, tomorrow, next week, any time,
because our most far-out offshoots, underground
and hidden from the view, today avoid a barren
bed of soil, instead of piercing through it,
unlocking the deepest layers with the accumulated
strength of their countless achievements? because
a whole branch never dares itself; because it never
develops green and never bursts into blossoms,
remembering its message: the way it turns from
waste to food, from waste to shade - because it
never does write down this art in its eternal
language, and never spreads it into the wind
encapsulated, certain of its successors who will
carry on -

the one thin root - which one? each one?,
that misjudges in complete impossibility
the finest crack that leads into the future:

gives the answer to god's question, where
in the face of earth there will be desert,
where forest with all of its
manifold life.





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