WORKS
Category Archives: PHOTOGRAPHY
THE HILLSIDE SMITH SECRET
Sleeplessly resting in a fragile hint,
so alike a water circle offers shallowness;
sighted shortly and withheld; so moving
Tracing then the water in the forest-creek down to the river.
Waiting here. Observing with a careful watchfulness.
Counting everything musingly and cultivating my freedom.
Honour is never anything other than right; wise and truthful,
unthinkable to therein search after any hidden motives.
Sleeping safely next to the hillside smith at summer-dawn.
Relief comes when Life again will be enough.
Letting fastidious be me reasonable and healthy.
Opportunities, the now’s possibilities avoided me steadily
and persistently bitterness bites memories sown,
cock-sure and clearly; in benefit for worthlessness
But, I have a prevalent advantage in clearest excess;
I am foresighted on the Holy Path Home to Valhalla.
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WHERE STONE SHARDS STAND
Choice is stone on flowers
or flowers on stone
YOU THERE! Follow me here and step on meandering ant-tracks
continuing down through the meadowland; in just this spring
which now remade by the meltwater runs over into…
Summer, went past reflecting other little summer memories
up here on juniper tree hills and field islands; down by the creeks
we turn our embraces around full-grown wild strawberry ditches
The water-mirror slumbered stuck further down in the old hollow
with its pine-needles and dust swimming on after― So prettily teasing
We will see invisibly lifted stone shards there behind the glade
by saddened hardened in each corner ― Yet they’re playing
The views are here allowed to be us stretched far and wide,
reachable, for us hastily taken in right before…
Autumn, a scent around blot wood and mushrooms in damp moss
from a silent hiding-place where one single leaf has hanged itself on;
following true life-gladness in search after worth seeing; stainless.
It died down meanwhile the river silenced below the ridge
and beside me sat a frosted fog denseness in a smile;
in its cold and snowfilled winterarms winterfairest shine
We return home inside the soll!
We strike forward our years on mountains!
We break Earth’s veins!
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AFORE BEAUTY DIES
Where fallow stayed accessible for years
gleaming in its coldest nightstones; calling
inside the forests snow-covered darkness
as night grew all its frost ready; to cling
Watching the remains sunken down in blood.
(My intensive double eyes
telling about my earlier lives,
remember now my clearest traces.)
Following my longings impossible demands,
That,
which never at any time will caress;
cutting a heart that thought too hard; My grave.
And all my beauty is now dead, as yours,
which in all of you so wrench and aggrieve
Missing me. My longing is cured.
FINDING. AM. BRED.
I am the new essence matured.
Extinguishing all my wounds suffering,
and awake, afore beauty dies, once more.
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IN A TIMELESS
Wide awake.
Taking over dawning,
kicking around down in the sand ―
sighting a grey-barn stand among summers ruins
Stepping up to the ledge of a still asleep stone bridge
when a grey wagtail flee away with a quenched cry
almost unheard in our consent of silent wind-throws
(It hurts to be so greatly charged with suspicion.)
It cuts hard into my insight.
Sad to say, I am an all too easily harmed, an turned inside irascible
that been lured to train myself balanced, to hurt myself galled,
be a vulnerable and at the same time avoid hardest pain
(Being all wounds intact and lulling my fairest dream again)
Have ragged myself to come down to the others alikeness;
to obstinately be on exception as an unknown curiosity
But… One thing will lead to the last ― In to an unsolvable
(Remained left in a late set autumn, in a capricious ― In a timeless)
Finally my anguish cuts me done.
It is late.
Care not to carve in overripe wood more now.
Wide awake.
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SPRING FLOWERS, AGAIN
Took these yesterday, at the same place as last year. It reminded me of my life: Doing the same thing over and over and returning.
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TRANCE
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I ETT TIDLÖST
Klarvaken.
.
Tar över gryningen,
sparkar runt nere i strandbrinkens sand ―
urskiljer en grålada stå bland sommarens ruiner
.
Stiger upp på kanten till en ännu sovande stenbro
när en liten forsärla flyr iväg med ett slocknat skri;
nästan ohörbar i vårt samtycke till tysta vindkast
.
(Det sårar att vara så bottenlöst utsatt för misstro.)
.
Det skär till hårt i min inblick.
.
Trist. Är en alltför lättsårad; en inåtvänd snarstucken,
lurad till att träna mig balanserad; plågas hudlöst,
vara en sårbar och samtidigt undvika hårda sårnader
.
(Har alla såren kvar och nattar min fägringsdröm igen.)
.
Har ovårdat mig till att komma ner till andras likhet;
att envist sättas på undantag som en okänd egenhet
Men…, det ena ger ändå det sista ― In till ett olöst
.
(Var kvar i en sent lagd höst, i ett nyckfullt ― I ett tidlöst.)
.
Äntligen hugger smärtan klart.
.
Det är sent.
Gitter inte gräva mer i murknat trä nu.
.
Klarvaken.
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TILL ETT NÄRBELÄGET MINNE
Det mest självklara för vargen förvånar fåren.
Ser en dödad vinterbrodd fastfrusen träcket
och igenkänner de direkt födda ner i gravfamnen:
Fattiga ungskogarna, tätt eller glest växta,
i ett frånvarande tillstånd vänder till trotset
däri själva vissnandet upptar all deras tid…
Sårbara, så gåtfullt överens med hårdaste erfarenheten,
växta på en stenbumling med rötterna synliga runtom
felslut som; tvivel, olust, sorger, vekhet och misär
där orden mest bjuder på gammal halvmesyr
dugligt till smickret; klent till Verkligheten
Fulländat dagdrömda dansade på nattgammal is,
äcklande gynnade produkter fria från renhet
och har frihet till hopp om ynklig nåd efter illdåd,
ty ungdomens dumheter slösar ungdomens glöd bort
Vänner! Såren kommer till innan lidandet
och täckes sällan över av att gjort är gjort
för när det strids om att få äta tistlarna,
vara mest kväljande trälföda lekt i lort,
kommer döden aldrig hit för fort
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HANGED FROST
1 SIGFRIDSSON 