Tuesday, 10 July 2012

when the wind turns

when the wind turns and the need to breathe resumes i wonder, do you believe me to be that kind of woman? (whatever that means); she who brings the night and harvests the days, whose slats of light perforate with paper cuts the morning sky signalling the advent of her becoming?


v said...

i LOVE beeing back in here reading your words!!!



At home there's a sun-corner
where spring quietly stirs.
Dripping all day long.
Clear drops from the snow-rim,
they reflect both good and bad
in their brief fall, and are shattered.
The sun is a hot cataract.

In that sun-corner,
where you were born -
it's those drops that should
mirror you, and wet your lips,
pure from the snow-rim and
right into your heart.

It's in that faint smell of
spring moisture you should fall asleep.
That call you should heed.
There, everything would feel right.

It's all moving downhill.
Everything's oozing toward a distant goal,
on its way to the sea.
An unknown sea inside a dream.
All of spring's sorrow is heading there.
All thoughts spiral there
and then disappear.

Your childhood sun-corner is where
you are when the call sounds.

-Tarjei Vesaas

Anna Emilia said...

The moment I read your poem,
the first rain drops knocked on my balcony windows.

Wingfall at dusk said...

Something beautifully folkloric about this.