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Poems and Thoughts by Frank Maurer

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Switzerland

Fire on the Christmas Tree opus 60

Switzerland in an old wooden alpine building. Christmas time (1964).
(Almost one hundred years after the US Civil War--
Irrelevant here, but important to remember.)
The whole school had to wait outside--
Preparation was festering behind the doors.

Then the word came that we may enter.
No lights, except for the fiery glow
Of a Swiss Christmas tree with hundreds of small, white candles.
What a striking, glorious sight--
It set one's heart on fire.
Then singing in the glow, adding to the mystery.
("Innsbruck ich muss dich lassen--")
It was a Christmas always to be remembered.

Wasting Food opus 129

We live in a generally wealthy society with, for most, plenty of food.
Indeed, too many choices, flavors, brands. . . . . . .
How many times have you been invited to another's dinner
And, after partaking in a marvellous meal,
The table is cleared and most of the leftovers, slopped down the disposal?
One friend reported she had relatives come to their home to stay awhile,
And they complained (!) about the cooking,
Took over the kitchen, prepared far too much for each meal,
And proceded to attempt to cast the rest down the disposal!
The host at that point, put her foot down--
"We do not throw good food away; we use the leftovers!"
Well, nothing changed and all continued as before,
So, when the guests departed, the friend said to me,
"And now we are eating many leftovers from a very full fridge!"

I also had a similar experience several years ago,
When partaking of dinner with a family of four (with two ten year olds).
I distinctly remember hotdogs, buns and other sundries
Pushed from each 'finished' plate into that gaping hole in the middle of the sink!

200 tons or more per day, much directly off our plates, are discarded
By families, restaurants, and processors in this country.
How can this be occurring so rampantly?
I was made to 'eat three bites' of something not liked at the table;
My children were guided to do the same.
In a school where I taught in Switzerland,
I followed the same practice with great success--
One stubborn eater even declared, after trying his three bites,
 "This was great food", and demonstratively gulped it all down.

Do we just have too much, with too many choices
And also along with that, too little discipline,
Allowing our children and then, later adults,
To be continually spoiled as they proceed through all of life's experiences?

As a farmer, among other things, to make all ends meet,
My mindset had been successfully formed by my parents' approach to food and dining.
Wastefulness in one of life's practices may very well lead
To a myriad of other undesirable approaches to life.

Coming from a farmer, ecologist, teacher, parent, and octogenarian,
This might not be such bad advice for the challenges we face in this new 21st century!

The Deafening Silence of Quiet Snowfall opus 329

My son just sent me a few-second video from the mountains,
Where he is introducing my grandson to the snow!
The video was dark, but depicted the soft-falling flakes in the limited light.
I suddenly remembered my first skiing attempts
On our neighbor's Massachusetts backyard slopes.
I then remembered my trips with my two boys--separately--
Because of their different ages,
To the ski slopes of our neighboring Rockies in eastern California.
Thereafter, my thoughts went further back to my student days,
Where I taught as a teaching job in the Alps of Switzerland.
The school, The Ecole D'Humanite, was in Goldern, above Meiringen,
Above which was the Rosenlaui Gletcher (Glacier),
Where Sherlock Holmes was 'first murdered'.
One day it was announced the school would all use the Gondalbahn,
To be transported to the actual 'Alp', the highest elevation of the mountain.
From there, we would ski down, ending up in the school yard!
I remember it was overcast and gently snowing.
The powder was so very soft and glass-like.
Descending on the slope was effortless--almost as if one were levitating!
Stopping now and then--there was no speed competition--
I listened to the absolute silence of the falling flakes,
As they gently accumulated around me, muffled in their fall.
It was a chilling experience of so much surrounding activity,
Accompanied with absolutely no sound.
My Heart shudders at 82, 60 years later,
From having had the privilege of partaking
In such an incredible human experience with our beautiful Nature.

(Sadly, with the Climate Crisis, many areas of our planet
Will no longer have skiing, let alone even snow!)

A Quick Thought to a Swiss Friend Late at Night opus 518

An active, restless, so far, night time
With many thoughts of my days in der Schweiz.
May I burst from my aging cocoon
To return once again?
I am but bound to my life here--
Not so bad on the whole;
And more or less at peace.
So it is, wisely, at the end.

Do Not Forget Rosenlaui opus 728

In my second year at Antioch College,
I decided to partake in their 'Antioch Abroad' program.
All this entailed an indepth German course in Radolfzell,
Pushing my bike and pack up the Alp to the village of Reuti,
And, there, declaring myself ready to teach math!
But on the way along the high, level road to Reuti,
I continually gazed at the Rosenlaui Glacier to the south.
At the young age of 19, I had enough sense 
To stop and comprehend the beauty I was beholding.
I vowed at that moment, pausing along the road,
To never forget what I was now first experiencing.
And thereafter, each day while teaching at that school,
I took a few moments to deeply absorb
That which I feared I might forget to take in,
Out of the passage of time, 
Which often brings complacency and grantedness. 

The Depression of an Elder opus 744

After a longer interval than usual, as we spoke together,
Marianne, my Swiss German speaker somehow came up with 'Trost'.
Her children were off to ski in Switzerland
And she was depressed not to be there with them.
At 83, she was basically unable to travel so far.
I attempted to comfort her as best I might.
"Your children--you have raised and nurtured them,
And now they are on their own, for better or worse."
"You were the bow and they, the arrows, 
And they are discovering their new goals and targets."
"The bow, by definition, remains at the starting place,"
So the word 'Trost' came up to her, 
But she could not remember its definition.
Together, we derived the meaning and found it most appropriate,
In that she longed for solace, comfort, or 'Trost'.
As we age, we are not able to follow so well.
We are slow and delay things.
Our limbs are weaker and less steady for holding upright.
We do not ask, but wish for 'Trost' from somewhere.
The young are full of themselves and do not understand.
The baby cries and wordlessly attempts to reach out.
The elder cries out, but the young ones continue,
Not hearing nor understanding the human directly beside them.

The Softness of the German 'Trost' opus 745

I was chatting one evening on the phone with Marianne,
A Swiss-German speaker; her mother tongue.
Somehow the word 'Trost' came up and 
She could not remember its English meaning.
After some discussion, we sussed out its meaning.

COMFORT -- general relief from distress.
CONSOLATION -- for something that alleviates.
SOLACE -- a formal poetic term, 
                   finding peace in religion, nature, or art.

When spoken, this word is soft in its feeling and sound.
There are those who claim German to be harsh--
Not true and if spoken from the heart as if to a lover,
Elicits passion, and depth, and solace to the listener.
This is a word to be spoken by any and many
And if correctly understood, would bring peace 
As well as compassion for the world.