Poem for the day: The Ister, first strophe

Now come, fire!
Eager are we
To see the day,
And when the trial
Has passed through our knees,
May someone sense the forest's cry.
We, however, sing from the Indus
Arrived from afar and
From Alpheus, long have
We sought what is fitting,
Not without pinions may
Someone grasp at what is nearest
Directly
And reach the other side.
Here, however, we wish to build.
For rivers make arable
The land. Whenever plants grow
And there in summer
The animals go to drink,
So humans go there too.

[Friedrich Hölderlin]

[Also, I'd like to see this film called _The Ister_, now. But who knows when that will happen. Maybe I shall, indeed, return to Netflix. More on that later, I hope. (The experiment is coming to a close, I fear, with little participation on my part. Or, less than hoped.) Hope is funny, wreckless. Be here now, be well, be liquid.]

[Can't wait for that _Sans Soleil_ DVD to arrive. Talk about liquid.] --RWK