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Gunnar Ekelöf 399  Gunnar Ekelöf (1907–68) “There exists something that fits nowhere” There exists something that fits nowhere And yet is in no way remarkable And yet is decisive And yet is outside it all. There exists something which is perceived just when it is not perceived (as silence) And is not perceived just where it is perceivable For there it is exchanged (as silence) for another thing. See the waves under the sky. Storm is surface And storm our way of seeing. (What do I care for the waves or the seventh wave.) There is an emptiness between the waves: Look at the sea. Look at the stones of the field. There is an emptiness between the stones: They did not break loose—they did not throw themselves out, They lie there and exist—a part of the rock sheath. So make yourself heavy—make use of your dead weight, Let yourself break, let yourself be thrown away, fall, Ship-wrecked on rocks! (What do I care about rocks.) There are universes, suns and atoms. There is a knowledge carefully built on strong piles. There is a knowledge, unprotected, built on insecure emptiness. There is an emptiness between universes, suns and atoms. (What do I care about universes, suns and atoms.) There is a second viewpoint on everything In this double life. 400 Swedish There is peace beyond all. There is peace behind all. There is peace inside all. Concealed in the hand. Concealed in the pen. Concealed in the ink. I feel peace over everything. I smell peace behind everything. I see and hear peace inside everything, One-colored peace beyond everything. (What do I care about peace.) “The knight has rested for a long time” The knight has rested for a long time straight in the saddle high in the mountainous land so desolate that the eye hesitates Wonderful stretches of smoky hills that never come near! Beneath and far off his companions are chattering The falcon waits on his breast it has laid its head on his cheek O strange tenderness in my heart! —Then he raises his hand and the bird flies out away He sits there and watches it climb in gyres always higher and higher He rests still straight in the saddle when the night falls Feared night! Longed-for night! Gunnar Ekelöf 401  “When one has come as far as I in pointlessness” When one has come as far as I in pointlessness Each word is once more fascinating: Finds in the loam Which one turns up with an archeologist’s spade: The tiny word you Perhaps a pearl of glass Which once hung around someone’s neck The huge word I Perhaps a flint shard With which someone who had no teeth scraped his own Flesh “So strange to me” So strange to me this rose, this thing delicately bursting out this absent thoughtfulness or light over a turned-away cheek . . . As on a spring day when you sense something and hold it firmly an instant, a second unchangeable something that shall never turn to summer Christina Bratt and Robert Bly, 1963 ...


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