Sunday, 14 August 2016

there is a golden vein threaded through us all

I hold my light above you and you become
a composition of gold and shadows.

my dream self has thorns
growing from her abdomen.
frightening and painful.

still to flower.

but the dark lifts
and spring comes.



tentaculitidae said...

Yes, of course it hurts when buds are breaking.
Why else would the springtime falter?
Why would all our ardent longing
bind itself in frozen, bitter pallor?
After all, the bud was covered all the winter.
What new thing is it that bursts and wears?
Yes, of course it hurts when buds are breaking,
hurts for that which grows
                        and that which bars.

Yes, it is hard when drops are falling.
Trembling with fear, and heavy hanging,
cleaving to the twig, and swelling, sliding –
weight draws them down, though they go on clinging.
Hard to be uncertain, afraid and divided,
hard to feel the depths attract and call,
yet sit fast and merely tremble –
hard to want to stay
                        and want to fall.

Then, when things are worst and nothing helps
the tree’s buds break as in rejoicing,
then, when no fear holds back any longer,
down in glitter go the twig’s drops plunging,
forget that they were frightened by the new,
forget their fear before the flight unfurled –
feel for a second their greatest safety,
rest in that trust
                        that creates the world.

Karin Boye, Ja visst gör det ont (1935), transl. David McDuff *

cloudgathererholdmedown said...

good god, yes.