Tuesday, 13 December 2011

Another poem by Ekelund

Then the beeches were light

Then the beeches were light, then isles of
floating marsh buttercups riddled the river,
light its crown the bird-cherry swayed where I
        roamed as a boy. –

Soundless the rain. The sky hangs low over
barren tree-tops. A whistle: the train starts to
move on again. Toward slowly darkening evening I
        journey friendless.

To see the original poem and comments on it, go to here

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