Friday, April 01, 2016

F O T O, poems 41-50

Lapporten



40.  (Cold water Torneträsk)

Sea big enough no access though,
I mean for salt, and cruise ships.

Sweet scent of this: birch, bog myrtle...
Sea fed by snow-melt. Hundred cold taps.



41.  (Flinging water)

Oh no. Not now your hands have found the water.
I know you’re a damned dangerous woman.

“Our matrons were lovely. They had to be, or they’d have been hounded out.”
And even so, you shook talc in matron’s bun.



43. (Shirt off by the fall)

Unmuted, my skin rubs up against the world:
coarse prickles of treeish debris;

swirls in the air; warm, flat butt of stone;
splish two, three drops crawl on my belly.



44. (Kicking water)

I looked at the dreamy arc and wished, somehow,
it would hang up there but it can't. From the moment

it flares up huge it is failing and kick as I may
it is falling into the gliding beck, no comment.




45. (Mad picture of Laura eating pancake)

Kerstin fluffed up a broad bowl of cream
and they were ready, they opened the servery.

We slogged up the hill with bikes. On time
we delivered our savagery.



46. (Laura dancing, Lapporten behind)

You create round a space in the hills and
fill it forever with something that isn't there.

My ever, at least. Something I’ll gaze at, old
and back, oh what is it? But you signed the air. 



47. (Hands to the sky)

Thus the plants lift their leaves, but we can't
snack from the sky. All the same, we're quicker.

Your arms make a yearning gesture, your palms
open. You discover America.



48. (Yelling in the hills)

T I L L ! Even the greatest bomb dies into silence…
Y O U ! How briskly she folds down the blankets on uproar

F I N D ! and back slips peace; but crush it baby
Y O U R !! and sing out – show we’ve more.




49. (Rented bikes)

Weird brakes you back-pedalled whinnying;
& angel handlebars, I slewed all

over the road groping for gears at knee-level. One plus-point:
springing, across the blue birchscape, the radiant bells.



50. (Writing in turiststation, rainstorm outside)

As if I hadn’t seen, dull as a stone
or that bench outside the window…

Decapitated mountain, grey fizzbomb.
Tea, trying to write a card. Glad to be indoors.




*


Backstory: All poems located on the same mostly sunny day at Abisko in the far north of Sweden. The U-shaped valley "Lapporten" (46 and image), to the east of Abisko,  is one of Sweden's most recognizable skylines.

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