Ord
bare små
små ord
og lavmælt
nesten uten pust
for oss
som brukne strå
ord uten lys
og nesten uten form
ord som hos trær
små halv-ord
som i søvn
for oss.
Mellem alt det store
små, små ord
å gjemme bort
på baksiden av en hånd
og ved din øreflipp
små ord
helt uten lys
som dyr
og gress.
--ROLF JACOBSEN
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Bulb and plastic
HE WISHES FOR THE CLOTHS OF HEAVEN
HAD I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
HAD I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
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