Inger Christensen

Winter is out for a lot this year the beach already is stiff all will be one will be one this year wings and ice will be one in the world all will be changed in the world: the boat will hear its steps on the ice the war will hear its war on the ice the woman will hear her hour on the ice the hour of birth in the ice of death winter is out for a lot. Out for the houses the cities out for the forests the clouds the mountains the valleys fear the heart the children peace. Winter is out for a lot this year the hand already is stiff the crying of children is heard in the house one will we be one life I hear my house slip with the world and scream all that has been screamed the heart rams its boat into ice shells rustling in the hull winter is out for as much. If I freeze fast in the ice if you freeze fast my child my great forest next summer my great fear as I come if you freeze fast my life: then I am a vulture of wings and ice tearing my liver, my living life awake in eternity. This winter is in for a lot.

Men’s voices in the dark

It’s very strange the eggs are everywhere There must be some mistake the eggs are so close together There seems to be no room for us Push the eggs closer together It’s impossible We must get closer together but beloved what will happen with all the eggs everywhere what will happen everywhere to us There must be some mistake

If I stand alone in the snow it is clear that I am a clock how else would eternity find its way around

I always thought reality was something you became when you grew up. In the square stands Fata Morgana looking tired, shouting Morning paper—morning paper.

Tonight, away begins to go farther away, and the dream what do we know of the dream metallic leaps Jackson Pollock silvery streams Jackson Pollock I gaze across the sea see in the distance your walk and you pass the Pacific, distant and blue phallus and Moloch pace my view on into otherness on into otherness? are we in the world after or before are we or are we not magnetic force it is apparently me you inform: genesis woman dream that begins tonight to go farther away tonight to reach farther away metallic leaps Jackson Pollock silvery streams Jackson Pollock on across the blue sea

On the street with our money clutched in our hands, buying bread and scattering breadcrumbs for the bluish doves. Paying to see the fire eater, the cigarette swallower and the dead vagabond who breathes. Greeting the palm tree that sighs at night. Saying a few words to the staring stone figure above the gate. Laughing and rushing in as if chased. In the cool kitchen we prepare and arrange our food. We make it as elegant as we can. Bouquet on the table and all. And we speak

Already on the street with our money clutched in our hands, and the world is a white laundry, where we are boiled and wrung and dried and ironed, and smoothed down and forsaken we sweep back in children’s dreams of chains and jail and the heartfelt sigh of liberation and in the spark trails of feelings the fire eater the cigarette swallower come to light and we pay and distance ourselves with laughter.