Tuesday, July 16, 2013


I saw by chance Sweden thinking
on a face beyond my comprehension.
A light through ocean air almost holy
and hesitant as the language of the dead
seemed to be absorbed into her spirit.
So that's why Bergman's films glow
the absent god's consequence!

The Modern spirit of Sweden is not fathomable. 

Poetry has no chance of escaping
the gravity of a downward glance
toward a strong and willed becoming.
Liselotte lives the air and it becomes her.

I think she must draw into herself
the echoes of shore gulls shrieking,
turning into cadences of ghostly verses.

I saw by chance Sweden in human reverie
on the pale brow of a distant auteur being.
And I've learned that life is stranger still

than great powers of my imagining. 

~ TB, 2013

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