|
Turnings Translations of contemporary Finnish lyric poetry by Doug Robinson Preface Contents Prologue: What happens I slept ten nights by a smoking fire
Dark day, bright night in one Spirit of autumn, smoke of autumn's song
I pull myself tight The white heat of the fells Some gave a sense of size Autumn's smoke in the air this morning on my way to work Who hid among us, couldn't help it Yesterday they still called you in to
eat every eye's lash Homeland in the Air limping badly The Kingdom tiny, black, tailed Night's gloom looms on all hands distant as a dream The trees are, the nights grow longer
bit by bit He stood with his back to me Rising to its hands and knees One day you'll wade to shore I ask time for words the rain that pounded the pavement I light candles astride the winter mums
When you breathe close Do we shield each other your feelings taste your leaving unlatched that the feel of turbidity Driving Autumn, old driver, pissing We drive beneath the vast night and thunder
Steve The morning's team do you feel those long white nails I'm thinner, I think. But how? Close by, deep inside you, some thread
I cast nettles in my eyes I sit in the rain For years If you owe goose eggs, don't borrow slowly, distantly begins This summer even the blackbird Imperious goldeneye, waterfowl And she moves in a room where there is
nothing but the expectant water I lie And so she nearly stops breathing the earth has started to fling like evening Pasts have this resemblance, I still
remember them Animals hate you They call you an aristocrat Indision even if you travel The moon is the heel of a limping shoe
The dead sleep frozen beneath the snow
If only this would work, just once The sun plays day, night the star This time be other? Winter Under the ice onions sleep So many times more than the stone It's snowed It's no use the long winter's night backs The trees are inside us You are a long sentence She burns the lamp mornings longer than
she needs to, she's alone I ask the stones' Full moon in February and the snow The tree, I wonder at the tree Fruit for the trees, juice for the fruit
of the trees, and I said The melony moon opens one bruised eye
The Unknown Soldier I consider a conjunction Let me lay my hand The hand that writes us writes let time pass Stone age gone, the gig's In the hairs of the forest birds are
vermin So wide in the middle narrowing a little
your long smooth With their tiny tongues If only I could Tomorrow he'll still be the one does anyone think s/he's Gordon the hunger of another's nerve cells Staring at the sea Captain in Copse, Felled by Friendly
Fire The dark waits. The stranger waits I stuffed the trash gusts cuff Was it true or my heart's simulacrum,
that Don't remember The road's pocked face I have loved the path Homo Regens Happiness is a hazy path through the
woods Epilogue: What happens
|
||||
Last Modified: