THE CURTAIN
One winter night when I drew the curtain aside from the window
I saw long-legged Orion stride over the neighbour’s roof
close on the heels of a pregnant moon that rocked on the edge
of the roof ridge. All was as it should be, well-known figures that
provided signs and foreshadowings I myself had to interpret.
Was it a race taking place, or a procession in honour
of the universe with billions of stars and black holes
which are streaking away from this planet? But which
also find their way back to precisely my window as the result
of causes I am incapable of understanding. Apart from the fact
that the world is a place for visions and deep rumblings
from battlefields which ought not to exist in this age
when the planet is in the process of boiling over. Suddenly I see
in front of me the tall and slender birch trees lining Glafsfjorden
in Värmland where my family originally comes from. They sway gently
as if they are listening to the music from Ingesund where young
people have played the piano for over a hundred years. The peace
is tangible and audible. War is people who fled
in a long line up the path to St. Hansfjellet at Strømmen
when German bombers came in low one April morning
in 1940. I put my trust in Orion’s Belt which holds
this winter night firmly. The moon is a faithful friend that
has followed our planet for millions of years. I drew
a curtain aside and saw the night give birth. Sirius trembles.
No comments:
Post a Comment