 DNA (Anatomy of the South)
oil on canvas, 2007
48 by 48 in.
Suddenly, from all the green around you,
something-you don't know what-has disappeared;
you feel it creeping closer to the window,
in total silence. From the nearby wood
you hear the urgent whistling of a plover,
reminding you of someone's Saint Jerome:
so much solitude and passion come
from that one voice, whose fierce request the downpour
will grant. The walls, with their ancient portraits, glide
away from us, cautiously, as though
they weren't supposed to hear what we are saying.
And reflected on the faded tapestries now;
the chill, uncertain sunlight of those long
childhood hours when you were so afraid.
Before The Summer Rain
by Rainer Maria Rilke
(1875 - 1926)
all images and material Guido Maus Copyright 1997 - 2008
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