Another two from Thor Sørheim

the sound crossing-point

East is east, and the first to cross the river

probably had ice under their feet. West is west,

and the sound-man was obliged to ferry people

over to the far side, from east to west,

and from west to east. People passing the thalweg

mid-river felt secure at having

solid ground under their feet on both shores.

For east is east, and west is west,

and we always hear the cry from

the far side.

streetwise

When I look at the photograph of my father

sitting slightly sprawled out on a bench in the back garden

he grew up in, a place I often visit

so as to walk in the same streets, study the erect

frontages and stroll in the inlaid parks he used to play in,

it strikes me that the young boy with the mop of

blond hair and the bright eyes must have been a dreamer.

A stranger maybe in this neighbourhood where gangs

stood on every street corner ready to intervene

if anyone dared venture across invisible borders.

Borders that I do not know, but he perhaps

did. In the yellowing picture I have seen of him his

gaze betrays nothing of how streetwise he was.

On the contrary, he is looking towards something far off,

perhaps the kitchen window on the third floor, or Ekeberg Hill.

To look at the photo of my father from the time he was a paperboy

reminds me that he was the one who taught me

to cross the street diagonally, at full pelt towards the traffic.

This gave those driving in the next lane a bit more time

to brake, so as not to attack us from behind.