Chapter 26 - Weather Systems
Published online by Cambridge University Press: 20 February 2024
Summary
Where is the wind in the time before dawn? Gathering fast on a straight course to storm.
Where is the wind in the reddening day? Colder than mountains that would break its way.
Where is the wind when the morning bell rings? Stilling the satellite’s eye with its rings.
Where is the wind in the white masque of noon? Hiding a power it shadows forth soon.
Where is the wind when the children leave school? Gathering force on a swift course to rule.
Where is the wind when the helpless one prays? Filling with dust that Sahara winds raise.
How does this wind cope with desert winds’ burden? Badly; and suddenly slower, uncertain.
What shall we do now we’re saved from the storm? Breathe dust-reddened air and wake before dawn.
anocht at night tonight it knockson the roof í nótt knocks gallopslast night anoche would it lastor cave in the roof would it lastnight knocking and galloping noxperpetually drumming on
Where may they find you, Caroline? Danger to life is forecast, My friend gone out, singing back to the wind.
Your words a stand of cherry trees. My spring cued by technicians. It is my turn to go, your singing bird.
You were their director, lighthouse. Now breaking on other waves, The beams you send out strive towards what strand.
We were alive before the plague, Alive in one place, manyAlive in one piece; we were alive, Caroline
Who has been France, Norway, memory, Dreams of a non-lethal crowd Baptized and crowned in bright and lisping haar.
Let them give you the microphone, Bring the big screen, Caroline. Show us night by erasures, dawn again.
The sun is a girl in the north and a man in high boots in the east and a vicious blond in the betweenlands.
The king’s perfume is roses to the west and amber to the east and further west the kings are whaleshit or raw.
The bridegroom wears pink in my land and drinks apricot brandy in another land and often arrives on a white horse.
I know the girl who makes the man stoop to drink milk she pours into mud, and how she feels great.
I know the man who confused a girl with a pearl, purity with an irritable secretion, the moon that fails with a quarry, a witch, peace lacking in justice.
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- Information
- Caroline Bergvall's Medievalist PoeticsMigratory Texts and Transhistorical Methods, pp. 199 - 200Publisher: Amsterdam University PressPrint publication year: 2023