at the window

At the Window
William Rothenstein (British, 1872–1945) 
Oil on canvas, 56.2 x 44.9 cm.
Manchester City Galleries



at the white window

Whatever one sees beyond it –
green lawn, gray sky, blue heaving sea –

it’s clear that the window’s framing of the view
is half the meaning, maybe more.

The room is bare, the floorboards simple,
the sunlight falls in angles on the floor.

By being here alone, our sight
entering this picture, thoughtfully,

we celebrate both solitude and its mysterious
opposite, the sense of never being quite alone,

of having dim companions – from the past,
the future, from unsensed dimensions –

as we move slowly to the window,
never to raise the sash, or even touch the pane,

but simply to look out, acknowledging
our unabashed humanity, both frame and view.




blue window

That longing you have to be invisible,
transparent as glass, thin air
that is what moves you certain times to tears
watching the evening fill with city lights
and the long dusty summer avenues
rise weightless through the air and
tremble like constellations in a sky so
deep and clear you are your one desire,
Oh, let me be that blue…

And in another moment you would stream out the window and into the sky like
a breath —
but it is almost too dark to see. In the next apartment
a door is flung open. Someone speaks someone's name.

from: Katha Pollitt, Blue Window



onto the window, the rain

 Outside the Dune.

 Alone the house, monotonous,
 onto the window,
 the rain.

 Behind me,
 click, clack,
 a clock,
 my forehead
 against the window.


 Everything passed.

 Gray the sky,
 gray the sea,
 and gray
 the heart.

Arno Holz, Drearily trickling drizzle 
tr. Walter A. Aue

Draußen die Düne.

Einsam das Haus, eintönig,
ans Fenster,
der Regen.

Hinter mir,
eine Uhr,
meine Stirn
gegen die Scheibe.


Alles vorbei.

Grau der Himmel,
grau die See
und grau
das Herz.

Trostlos rieselndes Tropfen