OUR MAN IN THE OBERLAND

Kein weltlich Getümmel

hört man nicht in Himmel!... (Des Knaben Wunderhorn)

Soon to move on to another resort

he calls Greendelvowelled, he’s solo

at a patio table picking at a punnit

of raspberries. “Hard to deal with

heavy meals here. So good

to sit with alpine panoramas. I get

strains from Mahler’s 4^th. You know the one

with that last song about Heaven?...”

We like his easy-care, sober dinner suit,

robust yet understated hiking kit,

his cool demand for consultation,

launching into schemes of ‘heading out’

with such troubled doubt and rigour,

we’re in the unknown and he’s a pioneer.

Bleary-eyed at breakfast we’re presented

with his 3D model relief map.

“Take it to plan your high-level trek

above that tuna-whatsit lake.” (That’s

the ice-blue expanse of Thünersee)

“Appreciated your filling me in

on ways down from that viewpoint

and how to take that quaint funicular

from the rail station by the river.

Noticed it’s upgraded year by year!

So what do you guys do back home?”

Retired! We can’t be serious! Active couple

like us must be mid-40s at most!

Farewell circumstantial buddy,

our own Quiet American!

There’s no side to you. How come

you make us feel everything we say

opens up a whole new dimension?

 

 

 

NOTE Epigraph taken from the song mentioned in line 8:

you hear no worldly hubbub in heaven...