Five After Caspar David Friedrich, by Barbara Krasner

Woman at the Window, by Caspar David Friedrich (Germany) 1822

​The Window Opens as the Walls Close In
 
She blends faceless into the room’s casements,
but her purpose is clear. She mourns the boats
along the river. Her beloved sails farther and farther away,
while she remains grounded, caught between the louvres of her longing.
​

Sea of Ice, by Caspar David Friedrich (Germany) 1824

Colour Is the Stain of Life
 
I float on an ice barge,
forging my own way 
on the immunocompromised sea.
 
My jagged edges keep visitors
at bay. I cannot allow them 
to come on board. I slip
 
into alabaster nothingness,
sailing toward blank horizon
and a bleak future
 
where the only colour
is the stain of lesions
on my inherited skin.

Coastal Landscape in Morning Light, by Caspar David Friedrich (Germany) ca. 1817

In the Shadow of the North Sea
 
Morning light ripe with possibilities, all oars
seeped in water to seek the day’s treasures,
even in a humble skiff, not like the sailing ships
in the harbor. We have only the inlet, no beach,
but rocks and shrubs to be sure. And our network
of nets to trap that delicacy, eel, once we lay
them back into the water. 
 
We have our chicory brew 
and morning sandwiches of Tilsiter
on Bauernbrot. The fish like cheese, too,
when we hook it for bait. Cod, herring, sole,
and fatty mackerel. But the real haul
of the day is the banter between father and son
while we pass around the flask of schnaps,
waiting for snags.

Woman Before the Rising or Setting Sun, by Caspar David Friedrich (Germany) 1818-1824

​Sunrise, Sunset
 
I stand before the rising sun.
or maybe the setting sun. Too tired
to notice whether I face east or west.
 
I stretch out my fingers, my hands, my arms
to receive. Anything. The sound of lapping water
in the pond. The scent of lilac. The imprint
of my mother’s fingertips on my arm before she slipped away.
 
I stand in silent prayer. Grateful to have clothes
on my back, shoes on my feet, the ability
to walk. Creamy bursts of hard lentils on Sylvesterabend. 
 
If only my shoulders could relax even when
I let my arms hang against my hips. If I could sleep
through the night without angst
 
about what tomorrow will bring. Even the night’s
eerie silence threatens. I inhale
and exhale as I’ve practiced many times.
 
I close my eyes and visualize the time
when we were all together in our house,
gathered around the dining room table,
 
anticipating the blessings of the New Year.
I wipe imaginary breadcrumbs from my lap,
suck on honeyed memories from my fingers.

Sunburst in the Riesengebirge, by Caspar David Friedrich (Germany) 1835

​Sudetenland
 
The sun stretches its ego across the mountain range,
poking its bravado into evergreens, tickling gentian petals
into glory, tucking Sudeten violets into protection.
Not to be outdone, the sky sends its sentinels 
to cloud sunbeams, straitjacket them in mist.
On the slope stands a herder’s shack. Across
the meadows onto pastures, he pokes the sheep,
bleating their way someday to a butcher 
and dinner plate. With mica, quartz, and feldspar,
ancient granite beds anchor the open playground.
Above all this, Odin watches
and decides when and where to strike.

Barbara Krasner
​
Barbara Krasner, a former German major, viewed the works of Caspar David Friedrich up close and personal at a featured exhibit of his work at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in May 2025. His romanticism inspired her to write in response to his art. She is the author of seven poetry collections and a frequent participant in The Ekphrastic Academy workshops. She lives and teaches in New Jersey. Visit her website at www.barbarakrasner.com.