Provençal Sakura
I always associate the coming of cherry blossoms at the foot of the Luberon with my grand mother’s change of world. To me, she flourishes every spring, and this year, I arrived just in time, for the season is precocious.
Already most fruit trees had shed most blossoms… Only a few quince and cherry trees gave me that joy. The kitchen garden well ahead for April. I landed back at Marseille-Provence in soaring temperatures, thanks to a twist of luck that allowed me to to fly direct from Edinburgh the very morning I left my northern roost.
And what a trek across the sky 🙂
My favourite mountain, Luberon, so majestic, as we descended into Marseille… Giono’s blue whale so bright and clear by afternoon.
Marseille, gate to the East and Africa, Massilia-Massalia, founded by Greeks, grown by Romans, with les îles du Frioul and If in the foreground, minutes before landing. La Grande Bleue, plain and magic.
I shan’t forget such moments. Always a thrill from my humble seat inside the fuselage. This year, I reconvened with JJ and Monique, whom I had such pleasure sharing with again. JJ fell in love with my poetics and he is very sensitive to artists and poets. As a matter of fact, he invests in art as a benefactor. We shared beautiful conversations and he is becoming to know me much better now. Let’s see what is going to heave out of those moments of sharing. 🙂
Ten days inside blue could be called a fantastic symphony. I reconvened with Les Huguenots, where life turns out immoveable, but also with relatives and my close friends from Pertuis, Isa and Michel, who hosted me for two days – sheer moments of pleasure.
Two days with my lifelong friend and her clan, including her grand children. We had lots of fun jam-packed in and around their home. Moments of pleasure.
L’orage
Out of ten days, an afternoon tainted by grey and rain, as April strikes in any form. That heat heaved thunder and lightning in one afternoon. Not surprising as the thermometer had soared a bit too quickly to my taste.
The air turned more breathable, colours vanished and the whole of the sky blackened to unleash its madness. That palm tree and flowers suddenly yielded to its wrath and felt the weight of freak clocking rain.
It prompted a poem, entitled l’orage / the storm.
L’orage
En un éclair,
le ciel est devenu métal, nuages de
charbon et d’acier.
Fort de ton flash, ciel
photographe,
tous les oiseaux se sont cachés, entre les fleurs du cognassier.
Sous les tuiles je t’entends gronder,
glisser les gouttes de ta colère sur toutes
les feuilles de l’olivier.
Et sous le poids de ton humeur,
toutes les tulipes se sont courbées – robes d’or et
de rouge, leurs pétals protègent
le trésor…
Le vent fait frétiller les palmes toutes luisantes de la pluie;
nettoie ce ciel chargé de cendres,
décharne un peu plus le vieux chêne.
Tu montes le ton et vide
ton sac…
Et maintenant tu t’envenimes et te déchaînes!
Son et lumières, tes perles tombent
drues, s’écrasent sur tout
ce qu’elles touchent;
sacageur de bleu provençal, dans la maison
je trouve refuge, et me souviens
du mot frisqué.
The Storm
This sky
turned metallic in a flash, with clouds tainted
charcoal and steel.
Fully charged
blitz,
photographer,
all the birds hid between the flowers of the quince.
Under that roof, Provençal tiles,
I hear rebuke land & heat;
let slide raindrops
from your own
wrath on
the
leaves of the olive tree.
Under the weight of your temper,
all tulips bowed to protect
the treasure clad inside gold and red petals.
The wind animates every palm of
the date tree
drumming snipe
style…
And wipes a sky
charged up with ash,
unloads the old oak of dead leaves.
Now, you raise your voice, spill the beans…
Unleash your wrath, torrential
style!
It felt epic, equatorial.
You, Provençal
blue
saboteur,
against my will, I seek shelter, and
remember that word,
frisqué*.
© Nat Hall 2017
Note:
frisqué (Provençal) meaning “chilly”/ “cold”)
All in all, nine and half blue days, moments of pleasure, and every time, that same feeling about where I really belong.
My trek back home – to my northern roost – proved even more epic. A story of mechanical failure miraculously took me home A LATER than scheduled, but am back hame, and am happy.
nordicblackbird 