Showing posts with label Rolf Jacobsen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rolf Jacobsen. Show all posts

Friday, June 11, 2021

ROLF JACOBSEN ~

 





Guardian Angel



I am the bird that flutters against your window in the morning,

and your closest friend, whom you can never know,

blossoms that light up for the blind.


I am the glacier shining over the woods, so pale,

and heavy voices from the cathedral tower.

The thought that suddenly hits you in the middle of the day

and makes you feel so fantastically happy.


I am the one you have loved for many years.

I walk beside you all day and look intently at you

and put my mouth against your heart

though you're not aware of it.


I am your third arm, and your second

shadow, the white one

whom you cannot accept,

and who can never forget you.




Moon and Apple



When the apple tree blooms

the moon comes often like a blossom,

paler than any of them

shining over the tree.


It is the ghost of the summer,

the white sister of the blossoms who returns to drop in on us,

and radiate peace with her hands

so that you shouldn't feel too bad when the hard times come.

For the Earth itself is a blossom, she says,

on the star tree,

pale and with luminous

ocean leaves.




Sssh



Sssh the sea says

sssh the small waves at the shore say, sssh

not so violent, not

so haughty, not

so remarkable.

Sssh

say the tips of the waves

crowding around the headland's

surf. Sssh

they say to people

this is our earth

our eternity.



__________________________

Twenty Poems

Rolf Jacobsen

Translated by Robert Bly

Seventies Press 1977







Tuesday, December 18, 2018

ROLF JACOBSEN ~






When They Sleep


All people are children when they sleep.

There's no war in them then.

They open their hands and breathe

in that quiet rhythm heaven has given them.



They pucker their lips like small children

and open their hands halfway,

soldiers and statesmen, servants and masters.

The stars stand guard

and a haze veils he sky,

a few hours when no one will do anybody harm.



If only we could speak to one another then

when our hearts are half-open flowers.

Words like golden bees

would drift in.

God, teach me the language of sleep.


————————

Rolf Jacobsen
from At the Great Door of Morning / Robert Hedin
translated by Robert Hedin
Copper Canyon, 2017