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.
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