[POEM]
So strange to me
this rose, burst into sweetness
this absent thoughtfulness
or the light over an averted cheek ...
Like a day in spring
when one divines something and holds it fast
for a moment, a second
unalterable
something which never will be summer
(CHINESE EMBROIDERY)
A firebird's nest
is
the heart
woven with branches of veins
and lined with flames. But the bird
broods there in still higher
heat. From her breast and sides
the flames seem to withdraw. Unscathed
she rests over the invisible egg
with her wings fanning, her tail-feathers
hanging outside the nest-rim. Or she flutters
up for a moment as if to catch
the insect of thought and images, vanishing
in the air's silk as soon as she has risen
again visible when again she rests
in flame, smoothing her feathers with her beak
Gunnar Ekelof
(Translated from the Swedish by Leif Sjoberg and Muriel Rukeyser)
