Archives for the month of: September, 2013

In the night, in the wind, at the edge of the rain,
I find five irises, and call them lovely.
As if a woman, once, lay by them awhile,
then woke, rose, went, the memory of hair
lingers on their sweet tongues.

I’d like to tear these petals with my teeth.
I’d like to investigate these hairy selves,
their beauty and indifference. They hold
their breath all their lives
and open, open.

We are not lovers, not brother and sister,
though we drift hand in hand through a hall
thrilling and burning as thought and desire
expire, and, over this dream of life,
this life of sleep, we waken dying–
violet becoming blue, growing
black, black–all that
an iris ever prays,
when it prays,
to be.”

Li-Young Lee.


“Av odrömt etsat
kastar det sömnlöst genomvandrande brödlandet
upp livsberget.

Av dess inkråm
knådar du nya våra namn
som jag, med ett öga
ditt på varje finger,
avsöker efter
ett ställe genom vilket jag
kan vaka mig fram till dig,
med det klara
hungerljuset i munnen.”

Paul Celan, ur Atemwende (1967), övers. Lars-Inge Nilsson.

“Somehow it’s sometimes hard to be a human.
Arms and legs get often in the way,
making oneself a bulky, awkward burden.”

Robert Creely, ur “En famille”.