Three Journeys

 

1)  1983 : Balestrand

Boarding from the jetty

at Kviknes hotel,

a boat along the Sognefjord

scenery unparalleled.

The Longest, the deepest fjord.

Athrill at dramatic setting:

Indigo water, cliffs, waterfalls,

circling birds, a gentle breeze,

grateful for remembered hat and shawl.

Others talked, drank, ate,

herring, cabbage, bread, wine;

I stared for hours, drawing it in,

landscape ineffable, vision sublime.

That astonishing, deepest, fjord.

2)   2007 :  Dambovicioara Gorge

Heart-stopping road from Bran Castle,

taking in the mountain snows, far-off villages.

Approaching the wild canyon,

that imposing opening, an abiding image.

Senses tingling in apprehension.

Through winding, narrow, steep-sided ravines,

emerging into a wider grassy plateau,

high rock formations, conifers, streams,

there to lunch on avocado, asparagus, beetroot, fennel tea, pistachios.

Such a splendid picnic we had.

3)   2018 : Danube Delta

From Tulcea, ancient city on the Danube,

along the Delta, stillness under an immense blue sky,

waterfowl, reeds, lakes, miles of lily pads,

banks of willows, poplar, and all the while,

soft lapping of waves, wispy reflected clouds.

Stillness under an immense blue sky.

South through densely wooded highlands to Babadag,

where my grandparents stayed in a cottage by the lake.

They read, made the fire, listened to the radio;

they would never know a time as close, as free,

before the world crashed in upon them, blow-by-blow.

In the cottage by the lake, just the water, the trees.

Peter Jennings

East Sussex

March 2025

Spells and Disenchantment 

Oh, times in that recital hall

before the Soul Of Music;

waiting on ballade, barcarolle,

with anticipation suffused.

Mostly alert, sometimes sleepy,

then, caught up, swept away;

spellbound, transported, weeping,

at voice and piano interplay.

I heard stories: transfiguration,

visions, trysts, in forest dark;

ecstasy, passionate declarations,

sorrows, heroics for a sweetheart.

With each wonder, transmutation,

cry of passion or despair;

each poisonous or seductive potion,

quite captivated, I am there!

By turns, transfixed, enchanted,

from tenebrous eve to numinous dawn;

through bewitchment, fascination,

I’m downcast, rapturous, forlorn.

Then, it’s over, spell is broken,

there follows the shuffling into the night;

through Cavendish Square, to bus or train,

home goes the shy sybarite.

Yet, music and story linger still,

not quite ceding to the real;

I do so want to remain, to thrill,

to something enticing, magical.

Entangled in the harmonies,

subsumed into the text;

I cannot bear the clash of gears,

from one world to the next.

For I have heard such stories there

and…I have known none such;

there has been -mostly- smallness,

inconsequence, daily drudge.

Mere repetition, dullness,

a staring into space;

the ironing board, the cullender,

objects commonplace.

Occasionally there’s been be a ‘do’,

on a boat, in a pavilion, pagoda;

a picnic, too much Dubonnet,

or Punch, or Brandy & Soda.

Matter briefly animated,

with blush and gush, intent

on performing a dance, soaring aloft

until the ghastly descent.

Then, back to staring, wondering,

filing nails, cutting hair;

folding clothes, hoovering,

meandering here and there.

Seeing & thinking…nothing much,

no twilit forest, no steed;

just slender prospects and means,

a petty pace, creeping indeed.

A recital for piano and voice of

'Spells & Disenchantment' can be found at:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QsQZ1IXvbec

Peter Jennings

East Sussex

April 2025

Mourning

Beloved Gaistal Valley, a fine dawn, low lingering mist;

distant jangle of cow bells, before the dense pine forest.

Along the stony path, across springy meadow, an hour

by meandering stream, oh, the wonderful Alpine flowers!

Then a steeper climb, up through the wooded way,

anticipating the first Alm, first viertel of Spätlese.

These were days as fine as I would know.

On the way, an distinguished man in Bavarian green

drew alongside; an affable companion, Anglophile it seemed.

Beneath the urbanity……something, waggish, wry,

the mannered politeness veiled an impish eye.

A carefree, antic bow, a resounding “Grüss Gott”,

with swish and swank, he struck out for mountain top.

This an impression as firm as I would know.

Evening Gemüse Platter, with spirit enriched,

up winding slope, flanked by trees and ditch.

Up and around, a full moon wandern

(morning revealed it’d been the toboggan run).

Minus 15, low bright stars, the unknown to left and right.

A little dizzy from the clean sharp air, sometimes slipping on the ice.

This a night as black as I would know,

Stars as bright as I would see.

Stars as bright as I would ever see.

A recital for piano & voice of 'Mourning'

can be found at:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1MnFf819DQE

Peter Jennings

East Sussex

January 2025