The poem about migratory birds below was written at the end of World War II by one of the more prolific Flemish poets, Hubert van Herreweghen. Tricky translation – in the original the very last sentence really conveys that you should learn to love life or what is left of it. There was, with winter approaching, probably longing to follow the birds, away from the fields of Flanders, to a a warmer South, leaving the violence, the losses and serious hunger of those years behind.

MIGRATING BIRDS

The summer that has cheated us; 
the gloomy lesson autumn brings. 
Beneath the slow, high cumulus, 
I see a black bird fly across,
heading south with beating wings. 

The magical flight of the wild geese 
and cranes with their clamouring cries 
over the land like a golden fleece. 
Winter brings shadows, dark without cease, 
until a new journey fills up the skies. 

Vulnerable heart and senses in pain, 
There is no home, in east or west, 
where, landed, you’re not restless again. 
You must learn to love life, that’s plain, 
Or, anyway, to love the rest.

By Hubert van Herreweghen, translated by Paul Vincent

From: Verzamelde gedichten
Publisher: Orion, Bruges, 1977

I picked it as a bridge to one of my favorite clips of all time, my go-to when I need peacefulness.

I photographed the migratory swans, geese and cranes this week on their journey in the opposite direction – going North to meet longer days, more light, the delights of mating and nesting season. No longing to follow them – in love with my home, that does exist here in the West, and loving life as always, no need to learn that. Magical flights, though, indeed.

Joys to be had then, this week. Attached to change, in nature and elsewhere. Grateful for the respite.

Geese soaring

TREKVOGELS

De zomer die ons heeft bedrogen; 
o weemoed die de herfst ons leert. 
Onder de wolken, trage en hoge, 
een zwarte vogel voor mijn ogen 
die naar het zuiden keert. 

Magische vlucht der wilde ganzen 
en kraanvogels met luid gekrijs 
over het land vol gouden glansen. 
Dan valt de schaduw die de ganse 
winter verduistert tot de nieuwe reis. 

Ontvankelijk hart, kwetsbare zinnen, 
er is geen honk in oost of west 
of gij zijt rusteloos, er binnen. 
Leert toch het leven te beminnen 
of wat er van het leven rest.

Music today comes from a vision of migratory destinations for swans. As you can imagine the whole cycle of Cantus Arcticus is a favorite of mine.

And these are about 1000 snow geese on a stop-over, that white strip on the horizon.