Anonymous Wallace Stevens said...

The first idea was not our own. Adam
In Eden was the father of Descartes
And Eve made air the mirror of herself,

Of her sons and of her daughters. They found themselves
In heaven as in a glass; a second earth;
And in the earth itself they found a green -

The inhabitants of a very varnished green.
But the first idea was not to shape the clouds
In imitation. The clouds preceded us

There was a muddy centre before we breathed.
There was a myth before the myth began,
Venerable and articulate and complete.

From this the poem springs: that we live in a place
That is not our own and, much more, not ourselves
And hard it is in spite of blazoned days.

We are the mimics. Clouds are pedagogues
The air is not a mirror but bare board,
Coulisse bright-dark, tragic chiaroscuro

And comic colour of the rose, in which
Abysmal instruments make sounds like pips
Of the sweeping meanings that we add to them.

23 november, 2008  
Anonymous Gunner Ekelöf said...

blomsterne sover i vinduet og lampen stirrer lys
og vinduet stirrer tankeløst ud i mørket udenfor
billederne viser sjælløst deres betroede indhold
og fluerne står stille på væggen og tænker
blomsterne læner sig op af natten og lampen spinder lys
i krogen spinder katten uldgarn til at sove med
på komfuret snorker kaffekanden nu og da med velbehag
og børnene leger tavs på gulvet

24 november, 2008  

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