A poem from 'A Time in Xanadu' by the Swedish poet Lars Gustafsson

FICHTE BY THE KEROSENE LAMP

When the soft darkness of August

suddenly closed in

it was as if the lake down there

quickened its pulse, breathed otherwise

unknown animals peered perhaps out of

their holes in the bank.

And the kerosene lamp was lit.

It was like a small lighthouse

in various ledges of glass and porcelain

and the hot stream of heated air

must be kept away from the curtain.

Very careful about that,

never place the lamp under the curtain.

It produced, strictly speaking, a great deal of heat

(the difference could clearly be felt in the room)

and not much light. And around this lamp flew

an angry small steel-blue insect

the philosopher Fichte had somehow

extracted himself from the thick brown book

on the table,

where he presumably lived.

Circled until the flame took him.

But then the evening was over.

To see the original poem and hear the poet read it, go to here