The poem I have use this morning came to mind because as I mentioned yesterday, Stephen and I have nearly always taken a winter holiday in Switzerland. We choose a date when there is something of interest happening and very often the main attraction for us, has been cheering on the GB Bobsleigh Team during the World Cup events that are held in St Moritz. Though this year the 4-man team has run into a problem with the brakeman pulling a hamstring apparently shortly before the event even started. We heard via the internet that they did not have a reserve team member with them. That I would think is because Bob sleigh racing seems very much a Cinderella sport to the British. We have been to a good number of these events and they are tragically under supported with hardly a fan group in sight apart from Steve and I.
We are doubly sad, that we have not been able to travel this year for obvious reasons, missing our winter holiday in the fabulous scenery and seeing our men and women’s Bob and Skeleton racing teams in action. We would also be missing the incredible polo tournament on the frozen lake which is such a true spectacle. Whilst we are there, we also swim train in the best swimming and sport centre we have ever experienced, the Ovaverva Hallenbad, often meeting triathlon stars, who also think it is a most excellent facility.
So here we go with my Moaning Lake piece that is actually one of my own favourite poems from my files that contain well over 1000 works. I think I wrote it in December 2015 according to my poetry files, which I admit are incredibly messy. It is about the eerie process of the slow stretching, freezing over of the St. Moritzersee that freezes so hard they can build a grandstand on it for the huge crowds to watch the polo players and horses thundering around on. The year I wrote this I sent it to the Tourist office there and they popped it on their website for a while. I was dead chuffed with that. We have always had a marvellous time there even though these days I don’t ski any more, but Steve will still go up on the slopes but even he is very much a fair weather skier these days and will spent a few hours a couple of times per trip skiing.
Moaning Lake
The lake is cold, with a glass clear still surface
it lays uncomplaining through most of the year.
High in the Swiss mountains one finds this place
reflecting high peaks and dark forest on its face,
through blue summer, crystal transparency here
showing late, this year winter will finally appear.
As night time temperature creeps to a seasons low
what is in store now invisibly wakes from sleep.
Underwater phantom cloak spreading slow, slow
like a spider spinning a meticulous silk web below,
cold splinters shaped like icy fingers silent creep
art design, stitch by icy stitch will outward sweep.
Then starts the stretching to still soft waters rippling
nightly drawn further from the edges of the shoreline.
Transformation as inch by inch the face is wrinkling
ageless reaching side to side sets surface glistening,
frozen blanket spreads as lake breathes a sigh benign
the rigidity of rock, yet malleable as a cobweb fine.
As if struck by a ghostly wizard’s evil freezing spell
the daily eye witness sees every change at a glance.
Miraculous to behold, a soft surface now frozen well
one wonders for the fish that beneath the ice do dwell.
From liquid to iron strength in an unstoppable dance;
children throw rocks before a step forward to chance.
Fresh snow soon spreads a sparkling cover side to side
efficiently hiding faults that are precariously under.
Loud as a rifle shot sound each new movement wide,
though depth of ice deepens; sloth slow it can glide,
as nature’s strength fires fearful cracks to tear asunder
power, unstoppable with the growth of such a wonder.
Then starts the low tone of alarming mystic moaning
like the sound as great whales make a call their mate.
Sad ghoulish cry for mercy, begging or for sin atoning
glacier like creeping unable to hold back the groaning;
frequency increases whilst chilly lake accepts her fate
eerie repetitive moans to surrounding mountains relate.
Breathtaking spectacle holding all watchers transfixed
every tourist and resident in equal wide-eyed awe.
Walkers on lakeside paths, adults and children mixed
all stop and stare and wait, in sight and sound betwixt;
forgetting other mountain noises of bird tweet or caw;
miracle of winter time remembered clear for ever more.
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