After weeks without any good natural light to shoot in, I’ve decided to look for shots that would show the sun’s absence. This one seemed like a good start. Though silhouetted bare branches are a familiar late-fall image, I liked how, in this one, the branches meet the wires, one of which bisects a timid December sun.
This image brought to mind the work of Lithuanian poet Sigitas Geda, whose poem “An Unfinished Drawing on the Street” I used to introduce my post “Streets of Vilnius (I).” His short, incisive lines powerfully render the dismal Baltic winters. Ironically, the notion of the sun as “the eye of a big bull” in his wonderfully titled “What I Whispered into the Ear of a Girl When She Didn’t Listen to Asclepius 2000 Years Ago,” seemed a stronger reminder of the sun’s recent absence. I hope you enjoy the poem, beautifully translated by the American poet Kerry Shawn Keys, as well as my photo.
WHAT I WHISPERED INTO THE EAR OF A GIRL WHEN SHE DIDN’T LISTEN TO ASCLEPIUS 2000 YEARS AGO
lie down you
on the graves
in the sky
is also just
of a big
(© 2002 Sigitas Geda / Kerry Shawn Keys, Biopsy of Winter, Vaga)