Through a woodland climb
Where picturesque rocks
Either loom forward
Like giant bulkheads
Or drop dramatically away
To the scarp side of the path
Less than a footpath
Covered with dried leaves
And thousands on small fir
cones
With small blue grey rocks
Pushing through
Demanding equal attention
Tall straight trees reach
heavenwards
Sprays of a bright canopy
of verdant leaves
Stretch toward the deep
blue summer sky
With dizzying swirling
sways overhead
Tangles of fine roots
Break the surface here and
there
Causing more cautious
steps to be taken
The path narrows
From time to time
To shoulder width
Where it is too steep
For a wider way to be used
Wild raspberries grow in
untidy clumps
Now as perhaps they did in
Mahler’s day
Tempting him to pick one
As they now tempt me
Over a shallow ditch
Looms a short wooden walkway
Taking the music loving
visitor further
Then to a short set of
rustic steps
Leading the follower away
In a slightly different direction
But still the path try’s to take
As direct a course as
possible
On such a steep incline
Tramping through the
undergrowth
Overgrown and meandering
Disturbed by the intruders
steps
Clouds of midges
‘No See’s’
Nipping at your legs
Ambling onward stepping
where Gustav stepped
Admiring the view as
Gustav might also have done
Feeling the emotion evoked
By the sheer beauty of
nature
Lifted as the thought
passes through your head
That the great man may
have thought
The very same things
Or were his thoughts and
feelings
More powerful
More sensitive
His sadness more grave
His joy more elated
Then suddenly one sees the
object of this tricky climb
The great composer’s tiny ‘Muse’
häuschen
The work place he chose
To hide away in
A glade
Void of modern world noise
Where even the tiniest
household sound
Could not disturb his
creative mind
Here nature effectively
offers
A serene retreat
A mental escape
Where only the leaves
murmur
To birds and squirrels
In perfect tune with each
other
A gentle chorale
Singing support
To the man’s talent
In inspirational seclusion
Nature unaware
Of the massive force of
inventiveness
Sharing this same space
Just another creature
He to them
Merely the daily hiker
Who came to spend this day
With them their leafy
glade
To him
A simple peaceful work
place
Sitting in this spot
Under the roof of
Gustav Mahler’s
Komponierhäuschen
I feel thunderstruck
Humbled
Tears prickle my eyes
Am I just a sentimental
fool
Or do I truly feel his
presence
As I sit there
Chill air wafts through my
chore
Floats through my very
being
Music that he wrote
Enfolds me
Where he sat
I the intruder sit
In a slip of time
If his spirit should feel
mine
As my soul is enveloped in
the romance
Does he wonder who this
Strange creature wearing
Bike shorts and Lycra shirt
is
Why have they come to
invade his privacy
Would he be appalled
Or would he know
In what high esteem I hold
him
Or indeed
Would he care at all
Can his ghost grasp that
we visitors
Are there out of respect
and wonder
And regret that he is lost
Physically to our world
But that he still
magically somehow
Holds that place in all
our hearts
Through the music he
created
Travelling through
eternity
From his mind
Through his pen
To our ears
To be loved forever
Profound and full of
passion
I am rooted for awhile
Overcome
Soaking up the atmosphere
I turn the pages of the
visitor’s book
And see that my feelings
are not unique
But that he has filled so
many
With his inspirational
strength
People from all over the
world
Have tried to express
How moving the experience
has been
Tiny sketches some sign
with a treble clef
Or a few scribbled notes
of music
Eventually I step outside
To try once more
To stand where he may have
stood
To drift from view to view
and wonder
Which way did he prefer to
face
My eyes are drawn
Through a narrow space
Between the tall trees
Away down the steep hillside
As far as the clear waters
of the lake
Where his family home
Haus Siegl stands
On the waters edge
By the glinting turquoise
Wörtersee
Like a massive natural
mural
A Carinthian scene
Stunning in bright bluey
green mix
Of lake water sparkling
Behind leaves and tree
trunks
I tear myself away
From the pretty Austrian
place
Less than a village
Called Maiernigg
Where he lived with his
family for a while
His wife Alma Schindler
Also a composer
And their children
Maria Anna
And their second daughter
Anna
Where both girls suffered
Scarlet fever
Where his little girl Maria
Anna
Died of diphtheria
Where sadness made it
unbearable
For him to stay
Beauty fades
In the darkness of grief
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