(En omärklig skymt under lövvalvet: Gryningsimman rinner på stenarna.)
Skrider undanskymd genom (hithörande nategräs)
Kliver över en regnbäck (innanför ett mjukt dimregn)
Läser i regndroppar på nyponblom; (min egendom)
Är klar. Klarare än källvattens megin
Är klar över det döda med detta liv.
Klar. Hårdare än sorgens första tårar
Klar. Renare än äktad glädjes näring
Klar.
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.
HARSHLY TURNED INWARDS
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.
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.
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
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 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.
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.
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.
1 SIGFRIDSSON 