BLUE HYDRANGEA by Rainer Maria Rilke

Just like the last green in a colour pot

So are these leaves, withered and wrecked

Behind the flower umbels, which reflect

A hue of blue, only more they do not.

Reflections are tear-stained, inaccurate,

As if they were about to cease,

And like old blue notepaper sheets

They wear some yellow, grey and violet,

Washed-out like on a children’s apron,

Outworn and now no more in use:

We contemplate a small life’s short duration.

But suddenly some new blue seemingly is seen

In just one umbel, and we muse

Over a moving blue delighting in the green

(Translation by Guntram Deichsel)

Callum and Andrea’s garden is adrift in a sea of blue hydrangeas.  They share with me.  A shard of blue sky caught against a wall washed in sunshine.   Sunday. July 24th, 2011  10:00 am


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