Wednesday, 8 February 2012

Poem by the Swedish writer
Karl Vennberg (1910-95)

But even this sun is homeless

But even this sun is homeless
burns homeless
with gleaming grains of fire,
brandishes homeless
its torches against the dark,
protects itself in vain
with a silver-white radiance.
Ah even this sun is homeless.

What then can blind hands find?
Are the seeking groping yearning themselves
merely homeless light from a homeless sun?

Yes, homeless light is everything refracted
through the lenses of the body or the soul:
trickery and truth
affliction and lies.
The same blind laws and lawlessnesses
watch over light and lenses.

So tend, presumptuous humanity,
the flowers of belief and unbelief
sprouting from fire and loathing,
lure lust to you with the honey of lust,
root yourself with pain
at a painful truth.
The same homelessness is lust and truth,
all shall be reduced to the same focus

Oh to gain alone one’s focus
and there be consumed by fire,
oh to return homeless
to an eternal homelessness.

Oh to be lifted from a conflagration
of lust and lies
up towards gleaming
mountains of fire,
homelessly brandishing torches,
shadows and
silver-like radiance.

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