Lacock: A Record of One Afternoon
Weston Beach, 1996
Sweden - Kalmar, Gamla Kyrkogården
Greece - Ioannina, Nisi
Nederland - Fort bij Spijkerboor
Mendip Vale
Places - Castle Cary
Day of Interment
Aubépine
My Train...!
Leaving the Dark
Cows of Abbotsbury
Very long time ago 1961
Fly on me
Wheat vs Barley
Arithmetic
The Island
Gothic Gaze
Black or white .. together
Il bello ... è comunque bello!
Con la testa tra le nuvole
Nederland - Camperduin
Love never die.
Secret Garden (Stowe Landscape Gardens)
Wenn wir groß sind heirate ich dich.
Vorwärtsschreiten
Zuhause in der Abgeschiedenheit
Streit
Keywords
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Places - Beanacre
Nikon D700 + Tamron 70-210mm f/2.8 LD SP (67DN) lens. Focal length 70mm.
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The Ball Poem
BY JOHN BERRYMAN
What is the boy now, who has lost his ball.
What, what is he to do? I saw it go
Merrily bouncing, down the street, and then
Merrily over—there it is in the water!
No use to say 'O there are other balls':
An ultimate shaking grief fixes the boy
As he stands rigid, trembling, staring down
All his young days into the harbour where
His ball went. I would not intrude on him,
A dime, another ball, is worthless. Now
He senses first responsibility
In a world of possessions. People will take balls,
Balls will be lost always, little boy,
And no one buys a ball back. Money is external.
He is learning, well behind his desperate eyes,
The epistemology of loss, how to stand up
Knowing what every man must one day know
And most know many days, how to stand up
And gradually light returns to the street,
A whistle blows, the ball is out of sight.
Soon part of me will explore the deep and dark
Floor of the harbour . . I am everywhere,
I suffer and move, my mind and my heart move
With all that move me, under the water
Or whistling, I am not a little boy.
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