Sunday, 20 December 2009

Four poems from Klaus Høeck's Heptameron


First Sunday in Advent.
        It is
        not the
events that are called
        miracles that
        are so hard
to grasp. More that
        i have to
        create them
myself each time by
        transforming the
        events into
miracles by virtue of my belief.


Second Sunday in Advent.
        It is smoking
        from winter’s
crystal. My words freeze
        solid to
        the paper
like the tongue to iron, like
        the soul to
        its body.
Can the heat from two paraffin
        wax candles
        separate them again.
Or the heart’s secret fire?


Fourth Sunday in Advent.
        The clouds look
        like boiling
lead; tracks dark with snow.
        But then the
        light of creation
is also black deep down
        within because
        this act
calls for so much light that
        everything else
        darkens slightly,
when a human child is born.


Christ’s birthday. I do not
        go to church.
instead a reproduction of
‘Christmas Night’. I don’t know
        much about births;
        only about the
spiritual (they hurt). But the
        sky is as
        red as the
glossy paper from my own childhood.

For all of Heptameron (383 pages!) go to this website

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