Thorkild Bjørnvig: 'September'

 

September

 

Guldgrund bag Grenene,

Aftenstilhed,

som var jeg alene

med Solsortskriget.

Men alt er til Stede,

Firbenet spejder

vaagent ud

af et Hul i Diget.

 

Fra Vandet stiger

Goblens rene

Klokkebevægelse

gennem mit Indre.

Nældens Takvinge

lukker sig sort

paa Bjælken, for roligt

at overvintre.

 

Et nyfaldent Æble

svulmer i Haanden

og glatter Livslinjen

ud en Stund.

Aa, kølige Velsmag,

alt er til Stede,

og strømmer tidløst

gennem min Mund.

 

Denne sjældne

Ligevægtstime,

som usøgt kommer

er Taalmodsgaven.

Se, Luften er hævet

af Solnedgangen

og svæver gyldent højt

over Haven.

 

De fire Vinde

er endelig samlet –

Hvor fjærne Træer

Kronerne breder,

hvor Solen daler,

hviler de ud

som store Fugle

i høje Reder.

 

 

September

 

Gold ground behind the branches,

Evening stillness,

as if I were alone

with the blackbird’s screech.

But everything is present,

The lizard peeks

vigilantly

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.