Poem
Jan Erik Vold
The Tree and the Non-Tree
1A tree
is a tree and it never
gives
a press conference, neither when
it sways
in the wind
nor
falls in a gale. A tree
is a tree
and one day
it is
not.
2
A tree is outlined
against
the blond dusk
of a June day, lifting
a blackbird
towards
the
heavenly mansions
or not. A tree
keeps quiet, as the song
gently
pulls the tree up by the roots.
3
A tree is waiting for
no one
to
come, for the rain
to fall, for
chlorophyll
to do
its job. A tree is fumbling
with the thoughts of the wind
without
knowing
what the wind is up to.
4
Engrossed
by its own
body, the tree stands and turns
its shadow
after the
sun
and the
wind. Reflects the tick
of the cosmic clock
without
uttering
a word.
5
The tree and its
brother
the non-tree
are cardboard cut-outs
on the ground
where we
live. One floor down the roots
are sucking
the dark. The wind is the
disappearing
alpha
bet.
6
The non-tree
replies: You exist, because you
hold
what the light
promises. What about me
who can
hold
nothing? Who cannot tell
is from was?
The roots
tinker
in the inkwell of the dark.
7
And still we have not
spoken
of
non-roots. Still
we have
not
spoken of
the mirror-inverted tree
of the non-roots. The square
root
of
minus oak.
8
In the dark
the pictures
don’t show on the film. In the dark
a totem pole
rises, with
carvings
that fade
when we look
closer. The only
way
to see
is with your fingertips.
9
The
tot
em
pole
bent itself into a
life
buoy.
Time
collapsed, the storm took off. We all had
our
hands
full.
10
The column
of light
lost
and gone. The cube of darkness
expanding. The
nothing
I
walked on was a thin
coating. Did I walk
on a marsh? Did I walk on ice? Was I a bird
that didn’t
sink?
11
The rock
sank. The bird
flew
into the dark spruce forest. Sits
somewhere and is
an owl.
Spots
everything. Sees everything
in two letters. The hairs will rise
on the back
of
a human being.
12
Next morning
the light
returned. No one can gaze
at the
sun.
The grass swayed, as if
nothing
was the matter. The flies
in the window frame
rose from
the dead. Bouncing against the pane, they
wanted out.
© Translation: 2002, Jan Erik Vold
TREET OG IKKE-TREET
TREET OG IKKE-TREET
1Et tre
er et tre og det holder
ingen
pressekonferanse, hverken
når det vaier
i vind
eller
felles av storm. Et tre
er et tre
og en
dag
er det ikke.
2
Et
tre står i silhuett
mot
juniaftenlyset
og løfter
en svarttrost
mot
himmelhuset
eller ei. Et tre står og tier
mens
sangen lirker
treet opp med rota.
3
Et tre står og venter
på at ingen
skal
komme, på at regnet
skal falle, på at
klorofyll skal
gjøre
jobben sin. Et tre står og famler
med vindens tanker
uten å vite
hva
vinden farer med.
4
Oppfylt
av sin egen
kropp. Står og
dreier
skyggen rundt
med sol
og
vind. Speiler kosmosklokkas
tikking
uten å ha ytret
et
ord.
5
Treet og dets
broder
ikke-treet
står klipt i papp
på marken
der vi
lever. I etasjen under suger røttene
mot
mørket. Vinden er alfabetet
som
for
svant.
6
Ikke-treet
svarer: Du fins, fordi du
holder
hva lyset
lover. Hva med meg
som ingenting
holder
fast? Som ikke vet forskjellen på
finnes og fantes.
Røttene
pusler
i mørkets blekkhus.
7
Og da har vi ikke
snakket
om
ikke-røtter. Og da
har vi
ikke
snakket om
ikke-røttenes speilvendte
tre. Kvadratroten
av
minus
eik.
8
I mørket fester ikke
bildene
til filmen. I mørket
stiger
en totempæl
med
utskjæringer på, som falmer
når vi titter
etter. Den som vil se
må
se
med fingertuppene.
9
To
tem
pæl
en
krummet seg til en
liv
bøye.
Døgnet
kollapset, stormen steg. Vi hadde alle
vår
fulle
hyre.
10
Lysets
søyle
sank og forsvant. Mørkets
kubus
ekspanderte. Det
ingenting
jeg
gikk på, var en tynn
hinne. Gikk
jeg på myr? Gikk jeg på is? Var jeg en fugl
som ikke sank
i?
11
Steinen
sakk. Fuglen fløy
inn
i granskogmørket. Sitter
etsteds og er
hubro.
Ser
alt. Ser alt
med to bokstaver. Hårene reiser seg
på
et
menneske.
12
Neste morgen
kom lyset
tilbake.
Solen kan ingen
skue.
Stråene
vaiet, som om
ingenting
var. Fluene
i karmen
stod opp fra de døde. Dunset mot ruta
og ville ut.
© 2002, Jan Erik Vold
From: Tolv meditasjoner
Publisher: Gyldendal, Oslo
From: Tolv meditasjoner
Publisher: Gyldendal, Oslo
Poems
Poems of Jan Erik Vold
Close
The Tree and the Non-Tree
1A tree
is a tree and it never
gives
a press conference, neither when
it sways
in the wind
nor
falls in a gale. A tree
is a tree
and one day
it is
not.
2
A tree is outlined
against
the blond dusk
of a June day, lifting
a blackbird
towards
the
heavenly mansions
or not. A tree
keeps quiet, as the song
gently
pulls the tree up by the roots.
3
A tree is waiting for
no one
to
come, for the rain
to fall, for
chlorophyll
to do
its job. A tree is fumbling
with the thoughts of the wind
without
knowing
what the wind is up to.
4
Engrossed
by its own
body, the tree stands and turns
its shadow
after the
sun
and the
wind. Reflects the tick
of the cosmic clock
without
uttering
a word.
5
The tree and its
brother
the non-tree
are cardboard cut-outs
on the ground
where we
live. One floor down the roots
are sucking
the dark. The wind is the
disappearing
alpha
bet.
6
The non-tree
replies: You exist, because you
hold
what the light
promises. What about me
who can
hold
nothing? Who cannot tell
is from was?
The roots
tinker
in the inkwell of the dark.
7
And still we have not
spoken
of
non-roots. Still
we have
not
spoken of
the mirror-inverted tree
of the non-roots. The square
root
of
minus oak.
8
In the dark
the pictures
don’t show on the film. In the dark
a totem pole
rises, with
carvings
that fade
when we look
closer. The only
way
to see
is with your fingertips.
9
The
tot
em
pole
bent itself into a
life
buoy.
Time
collapsed, the storm took off. We all had
our
hands
full.
10
The column
of light
lost
and gone. The cube of darkness
expanding. The
nothing
I
walked on was a thin
coating. Did I walk
on a marsh? Did I walk on ice? Was I a bird
that didn’t
sink?
11
The rock
sank. The bird
flew
into the dark spruce forest. Sits
somewhere and is
an owl.
Spots
everything. Sees everything
in two letters. The hairs will rise
on the back
of
a human being.
12
Next morning
the light
returned. No one can gaze
at the
sun.
The grass swayed, as if
nothing
was the matter. The flies
in the window frame
rose from
the dead. Bouncing against the pane, they
wanted out.
© 2002, Jan Erik Vold
From: Tolv meditasjoner
From: Tolv meditasjoner
The Tree and the Non-Tree
1A tree
is a tree and it never
gives
a press conference, neither when
it sways
in the wind
nor
falls in a gale. A tree
is a tree
and one day
it is
not.
2
A tree is outlined
against
the blond dusk
of a June day, lifting
a blackbird
towards
the
heavenly mansions
or not. A tree
keeps quiet, as the song
gently
pulls the tree up by the roots.
3
A tree is waiting for
no one
to
come, for the rain
to fall, for
chlorophyll
to do
its job. A tree is fumbling
with the thoughts of the wind
without
knowing
what the wind is up to.
4
Engrossed
by its own
body, the tree stands and turns
its shadow
after the
sun
and the
wind. Reflects the tick
of the cosmic clock
without
uttering
a word.
5
The tree and its
brother
the non-tree
are cardboard cut-outs
on the ground
where we
live. One floor down the roots
are sucking
the dark. The wind is the
disappearing
alpha
bet.
6
The non-tree
replies: You exist, because you
hold
what the light
promises. What about me
who can
hold
nothing? Who cannot tell
is from was?
The roots
tinker
in the inkwell of the dark.
7
And still we have not
spoken
of
non-roots. Still
we have
not
spoken of
the mirror-inverted tree
of the non-roots. The square
root
of
minus oak.
8
In the dark
the pictures
don’t show on the film. In the dark
a totem pole
rises, with
carvings
that fade
when we look
closer. The only
way
to see
is with your fingertips.
9
The
tot
em
pole
bent itself into a
life
buoy.
Time
collapsed, the storm took off. We all had
our
hands
full.
10
The column
of light
lost
and gone. The cube of darkness
expanding. The
nothing
I
walked on was a thin
coating. Did I walk
on a marsh? Did I walk on ice? Was I a bird
that didn’t
sink?
11
The rock
sank. The bird
flew
into the dark spruce forest. Sits
somewhere and is
an owl.
Spots
everything. Sees everything
in two letters. The hairs will rise
on the back
of
a human being.
12
Next morning
the light
returned. No one can gaze
at the
sun.
The grass swayed, as if
nothing
was the matter. The flies
in the window frame
rose from
the dead. Bouncing against the pane, they
wanted out.
© 2002, Jan Erik Vold
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