Inger Christensen: 'Aftenfalken'

The red-footed falcon (falco verspertinus)

Aftenfalken

 

aftenfalken fejer himlen ren,

bølgeslaget vender sig i søvne

cirkler lidt om strandens gamle sten,

det slidte græs der har så mange navne

er næsten anonymt igen af sand,

forliste barn der intet har at savne

går langsomt op til husene på land,

her lyder kun en fjern forsinket piben

i randen af det bølgeløse vand,

jeg tror den samme lyd man hører viben

kaste rundt når ungerne bliver væk,

langt om lange trækker solen striben

med sig ned bag horisontens hæk

ned i verdensrummets sorte sæk

 

 

Evening’s falcon

 

evening’s falcon sweeps the whole sky clean

in their sleep the waves turn as if musing

round the shore’s old stones and in between,

hard-worn grass with names there for the choosing

turns near nameless once again with sand,

shipwrecked child with nothing for the losing,

slowly makes for houses on the land,

there’s a distant piping’s time-lagged mutter

at the now quite waveless shore’s moist band,

such i think as lapwings often utter

far and wide if young ones they can’t track,

at long last the sun acts as a shutter

and behind the sky-rim it pulls back

last rays into outer space’s sack.