Friday, 18 December 2009

From 'Heron Heights' by the Norwegian poet Thor Sørheim


DA DET STORE TREET FALT

Da det store treet falt
slo lufta mellom greinene knallhardt
til begge sider, bladene gikk i spinn
og lauvsangerne svirret i tomrommet
uten feste. I fallet virket treet

mer skremmende enn selve
stormen, vi ante ikke hvilke krefter
vi hadde i vår egen hage før tørkestativet
av jern knelte som et kornaks
under stammen. Lamslåtte så vi

horisonten rase inn i synsfeltet
som en skogkledd planet vi aldri
tidligere hadde observert så nær huset,
og kollisjonen hadde vært uunngåelig
om det ikke hadde vært for lyskilen
som lynkjapt smatt imellom.


WHEN THE BIG TREE FELL

When the big tree fell
the air thwacked out between the branches
to both sides, the leaves went into a spin
and the willow warblers whirred in the empty space
without a hold. In falling the tree seemed

more frightening than the actual
gale, we had no idea what forces
we had in our own garden before the iron
clothes dryer bent at the knee like an ear of corn
under the trunk. Thunderstruck we saw

the horizon tearing into vision
like a wooded planet we had never
previously observed so close to the house,
and the collision would have been inevitable
had it not been for the wedge of light
that slipped through quick as lightning.

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