Sunday, 24 January 2010

Danes are good 'September' poets - here's one by Thorkild Bjørnvig


Gold ground behind the branches,
Evening stillness,
as if I were alone
with the blackbird’s screech.
But everything is present,
The lizard peeks
from a gap in the dike.

From the water
the pure bell-motion
of the jellyfish rises
through my mind
The small tortoiseshell
shuts itself black
on the rafter, to
quietly winter.

A new-fallen apple
swells in my hand
smoothing out the
lifeline for a while.
Oh, cool savour,
everything is present,
and streams timelessly
through my mouth.

This seldom
hour of composure,
that comes unsought
is the gift of patience.
Look, the air has been lifted
by the sunset
and is hovering high
and golden above the garden.

The four winds
are at last brought together –
where distant trees
spread their crowns,
where the sun sinks,
they find repose
like big birds
in high nests.

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