Tag Archives: BOOKS

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HARSHLY TURNED INWARDS

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Have seen through life and little is left me unseen.

The Now, is since long seen, already hatched,

to its very last drop a home-birded and tired.

Time,

there presage moved gifted unexpected possibilities

in the false promises that are ripped apart inside by the miraged

 while just running away from the latest cancelled occurrences…

But, still…

awoke to something unreachable and desirable in me,

as it would be a life without any words, rich with other than trash.

At long last given here entry to an Enlightened New Time;

an age where the new pen cease being so meaningless and mightless.

Wished deeds step onwards. None gets away.

Hear a last warning filled with severity.

All is altered.

INFÅNGAT! 6

HARSHLY TURNED INWARDS

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ÅTERSE LIVETS HJÄRTA

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Vaktar timmarnas skiften; deras byten: Mitt byte.

 

 

Dimtäckt ― UPPVÄCKT!, stiger ― lyfter sig Gryningen

snarvaket öppnad i de genomlysta skogsrummen

 

och hela natten saknas ― för en stund, ― igen.

 

 

 

(Oro biter ― en tyngd dröjer sig kvar.)

 

 

 

Vandrar upp Stigarnas åldrade, inbrända, årssteg,

 

står uppå blommande åkeröar,

lämnande mina falnande fotspår

 

och infångar slitna tankar ― när sagt i hjärtat klarnar, ― kvarstår:

 

Livets hjärta, våra hjärtan; är födda mognade.

 

 

Så återvänd, kom ni vilka lyssnat, känn kvalen renhjärtade;

på hat och glädjes villkor här tillåtet att ömt sammanfogas

med sorglösa ― kanske sorgstinna, upplysta Solens färdvägar

 

 

Är överbevisad ― när dina kårar kryper kalla, ― om du vaknar.

 

ÅTERSE LIVETS HJÄRTA

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AS AXE BLOW

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Here is a stone-hill filled with taken away stones.

 

There is a leaning larder collecting in what is already eaten.

 

(All still as ardent as a forgotten memory of a light burned out.)

 

 

The surpassed present time is without real answers

and sowing here without harvest in a curious connection

 

Viet knows what Honour causes, while here now life;

last and finally is mostly for ill hidden purposes grief

 

IN WITH THE UNREACHABLE TO GRAB!

TAKE THE FINAL STEP!

 

Be a solidity with the striking-weapon; Clarity and Right,

and fill up the patience, break here down suffering!

 

BE THE WORLD A WITHSTANDING DELIGHT!

NOW LIVE YOURSELF FULL!

 

 

It begins.

 

Enter to the present time with something monumental:

 

TRUTH.

AS AXE BLOW

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THE HILLSIDE SMITH SECRET

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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.

THE HILLSIDE SMITH SECRET

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THE UNTIMELY

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Want to save this moment from escaping,

for it is irreplaceable ― irresistible ―

almost unsparingly fair ― undefiled

 

 

Calmed, by misplaced sun warmth

(the betraying), to take myself a freod filled moment

 

(Wholly and fully as a dumb animal who right away,

instantly forgets, when a little heat reaches to look in.)

 

 

Trees, continuing the raining, in a well-aimed loan

compounded with sighing, home to its certainty

 

Woods, slayed again on its leaves, on its flowers and straws,

molded to clouds and soils service in a secret

 

 

There was something well-known…

 

about all this helpless nuisance,

this here too barren established;

that Life become Death’s only joke

 

returning to soon be the lost

 

 

And while burdened steps cry away the dust of the road

the pouring rain fills an already overfilled water keg

THE UNTIMELY

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HANGED UPON WISHED FOR BRANCH

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Heaving up the trashed and torn roots

right here next to the old gallows pole hill

 

 

 

Dig inside my soil.

 

 

 

Every glance is taken like a last solidified picture;

 

Released with the dew-drops in a morning haze.

 

Autumn’s shrouded leaves flicker.

 

 

 

(Daylight in its rising counts itself as old annual rings

finding me in the uncertain emptied; filled with real need.)

 

 

 

Time continues

 

 

 

To willful use for the eye

meets the entrance by the edge of the woods

where soaking wet leave mounds glimmer

 

from the same dawn to dawn enclosed

 

in the greyed trees, the bluish skies

watched and awaited; Time continues.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Juniper bushes, which stood on the slopes

treads on the longed for forest grounds

up the duskily pine-needle filled paths.)

 

 

 

Feel the presence.

 

 

 

Harshly appears the cold ways

denying cloud covered days,

which felted all my time here.

 

 

 

The wind hisses bodefully.

 

 

 

 

(Out-witted as an autumn-adorned branch

taken down with the now icing night-wind.)

 

 

 

 

 

Hear me clearly; Time continues.

HANGED UPON WISHED FOR BRANCH

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WHERE STONE SHARDS STAND

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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!

WHERE STONE SHARDS STAND

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AFORE BEAUTY DIES

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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.

SPRING FLOWERS 1

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IN A TIMELESS

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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.

IN A TIMELESS

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SED SE TIDEN

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1 SIGFRIDSSON – SED SE TIDEN (FRONT)