Snow Poem by Philippe Beck

Winter comes down from the snow.
Mass of ancient snow.
Slowly warmed up.
It is a white cold.
With its frighteningness.
Beauty at a distance.
Outside, kindling wood
demanding the Life Inside.
Sledge carries the wood.
Operated.
Leisure polishes
rose bud
or double surface of the game,
and the bridge of memory
of childhood silences.
Future toy is rounded.
The Impossibility Toy.
It plunges into the harshness.
Towards house.
Poor man's toy
in the land of constant snow.
Does lastingness of snow
deserve commentary?
Sledge bears useful fire fuel.
Before stoneware lamp.
Matter heats matter.
It throws out light.
Wood and iron sledge the wood.
S. needed in hard life.
Cold halts outside,
along with Clarity
sometimes.
A man makes an intermediate fire.
In the hard dry air.
Man clears the snow
on path.
Does he contest the snow?
Underneath is a golden key.
Like under the field in spring?
The keyhole is distant in appearance.
There is only a key in winter.
Man burrows into the earth.
There is an iron casket.
Miniature mountain.
Keyhole is hard to see.
Eyes must work hard.
Keyhole is hidden in one side.
The key likes the side.
Infinite key turning
underway.
Human finds the way
of turning the key.
A winter seeking.
Summer forgetful of the key?
And the wind severe?
Personal Pronoun is inside.
Is it someone or the key?
Tale is the infinite keyhole
now.
Whence its upkeep.


after ‘The Golden Key'