The rain has ended and it’s time for non-stop gardening, punctuated only by enough medicine to keep the inevitable aches at bay and smearing Neosporin on the scratches that have appeared on the typing surfaces of my fingers.
But I have not forgotten my adoring public. Here are some real bees, unlike the creatures in the previous post that turned out to be wasps. You can see the honey sacks on their legs. Also, they are quite furry. The bee in the first photograph is still in flight; the camera lens is not fast enough to stop the action of its wings. You can see only a silver shine where the moving wings are.
Bee poem links after the photos.
Bee poem: Osip Mandelstam’s 1920 “Take from my hand…” Here is the third stanza, in Russian, and two versions in English: Languagehat’s translation, that to me shows the richness and texture of the original Russian, and Slawkenbergius’ translation, which takes liberties with the original that illuminate the poem and crystallize the understanding of it.
Mandelstam: Нам остаются только поцелуи,
Мохнатые, как маленькие пчелы,
Что умирают, вылетев из улья.
LH: The only thing that’s left to us is kisses:
furry, like the little bees
who die in midair, flying from their hive.
Slawk: So we are left, alas, only with kisses
Covered in wool, like feeble, tiny bees
Which tumble lifeless when they leave the hive.
Google translate: We are only kissing, Shaggy, like little bees dying, taking off from the hive.