Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Jan Erik Vold

The Tree and the Non-Tree

     1

A tree
is a tree and it never
gives
a press conference, neither when

it sways
in the wind
nor
falls in a gale. A tree

is a tree
and one day
it is
not.


     2

A tree is outlined
against
the blond dusk
of a June day, lifting

a blackbird
towards
the
heavenly mansions

or not. A tree
keeps quiet, as the song
gently
pulls the tree up by the roots.


     3

A tree is waiting for
no one
to
come, for the rain

to fall, for
chlorophyll
to do
its job. A tree is fumbling

with the thoughts of the wind
without
knowing
what the wind is up to.


     4

Engrossed
by its own
body, the tree stands and turns
its shadow

after the
sun
and the
wind. Reflects the tick

of the cosmic clock
without
uttering
a word.


     5

The tree and its
brother
the non-tree
are cardboard cut-outs

on the ground
where we
live. One floor down the roots
are sucking

the dark. The wind is the
disappearing
alpha
bet.


     6

The non-tree
replies: You exist, because you
hold
what the light

promises. What about me
who can
hold
nothing? Who cannot tell

is from was?
The roots
tinker
in the inkwell of the dark.


     7

And still we have not
spoken
of
non-roots. Still

we have
not
spoken of
the mirror-inverted tree

of the non-roots. The square
root
of
minus oak.

 
     8

In the dark
the pictures
don’t show on the film. In the dark
a totem pole

rises, with
carvings
that fade
when we look

closer. The only
way
to see
is with your fingertips.


     9

The
tot
em
pole

bent itself into a
life
buoy.
Time

collapsed, the storm took off. We all had
our
hands
full.


     10

The column
of light
lost
and gone. The cube of darkness

expanding. The
nothing
I
walked on was a thin

coating. Did I walk
on a marsh? Did I walk on ice? Was I a bird
that didn’t
sink?


     11

The rock
sank. The bird
flew
into the dark spruce forest. Sits

somewhere and is
an owl.
Spots
everything. Sees everything

in two letters. The hairs will rise
on the back
of
a human being.


     12

Next morning
the light
returned. No one can gaze
at the

sun.
The grass swayed, as if
nothing
was the matter. The flies

in the window frame
rose from
the dead. Bouncing against the pane, they
wanted out.

TREET OG IKKE-TREET

TREET OG IKKE-TREET

      1

Et tre
er et tre og det holder
ingen
pressekonferanse, hverken

når det vaier
i vind
eller
felles av storm. Et tre

er et tre
og en
dag
er det ikke.


      2

Et
tre står i silhuett
mot
juniaftenlyset

og løfter
en svarttrost
mot
himmelhuset

eller ei. Et tre står og tier
mens
sangen lirker
treet opp med rota.


      3

Et tre står og venter
på at ingen
skal
komme, på at regnet

skal falle, på at
klorofyll skal
gjøre
jobben sin. Et tre står og famler

med vindens tanker
uten å vite
hva
vinden farer med.


      4

Oppfylt
av sin egen
kropp. Står og
dreier

skyggen rundt
med sol
og
vind. Speiler kosmosklokkas

tikking
uten å ha ytret
et
ord.


      5

Treet og dets
broder
ikke-treet
står klipt i papp

på marken
der vi
lever. I etasjen under suger røttene
mot

mørket. Vinden er alfabetet
som
for
svant.


      6

Ikke-treet
svarer: Du fins, fordi du
holder
hva lyset

lover. Hva med meg
som ingenting
holder
fast? Som ikke vet forskjellen på

finnes og fantes.
Røttene
pusler
i mørkets blekkhus.


      7

Og da har vi ikke
snakket
om
ikke-røtter. Og da

har vi
ikke
snakket om
ikke-røttenes speilvendte

tre. Kvadratroten
av
minus
eik.


      8

I mørket fester ikke
bildene
til filmen. I mørket
stiger

en totempæl
med
utskjæringer på, som falmer
når vi titter

etter. Den som vil se

se
med fingertuppene.


      9

To
tem
pæl
en

krummet seg til en
liv
bøye.
Døgnet

kollapset, stormen steg. Vi hadde alle
vår
fulle
hyre.


      10

Lysets
søyle
sank og forsvant. Mørkets
kubus

ekspanderte. Det
ingenting
jeg
gikk på, var en tynn

hinne. Gikk
jeg på myr? Gikk jeg på is? Var jeg en fugl
som ikke sank
i?


      11

Steinen
sakk. Fuglen fløy
inn
i granskogmørket. Sitter

etsteds og er
hubro.
Ser
alt. Ser alt

med to bokstaver. Hårene reiser seg

et
menneske.


      12

Neste morgen
kom lyset
tilbake.
Solen kan ingen

skue.
Stråene
vaiet, som om
ingenting

var. Fluene
i karmen
stod opp fra de døde. Dunset mot ruta
og ville ut.
Close

The Tree and the Non-Tree

     1

A tree
is a tree and it never
gives
a press conference, neither when

it sways
in the wind
nor
falls in a gale. A tree

is a tree
and one day
it is
not.


     2

A tree is outlined
against
the blond dusk
of a June day, lifting

a blackbird
towards
the
heavenly mansions

or not. A tree
keeps quiet, as the song
gently
pulls the tree up by the roots.


     3

A tree is waiting for
no one
to
come, for the rain

to fall, for
chlorophyll
to do
its job. A tree is fumbling

with the thoughts of the wind
without
knowing
what the wind is up to.


     4

Engrossed
by its own
body, the tree stands and turns
its shadow

after the
sun
and the
wind. Reflects the tick

of the cosmic clock
without
uttering
a word.


     5

The tree and its
brother
the non-tree
are cardboard cut-outs

on the ground
where we
live. One floor down the roots
are sucking

the dark. The wind is the
disappearing
alpha
bet.


     6

The non-tree
replies: You exist, because you
hold
what the light

promises. What about me
who can
hold
nothing? Who cannot tell

is from was?
The roots
tinker
in the inkwell of the dark.


     7

And still we have not
spoken
of
non-roots. Still

we have
not
spoken of
the mirror-inverted tree

of the non-roots. The square
root
of
minus oak.

 
     8

In the dark
the pictures
don’t show on the film. In the dark
a totem pole

rises, with
carvings
that fade
when we look

closer. The only
way
to see
is with your fingertips.


     9

The
tot
em
pole

bent itself into a
life
buoy.
Time

collapsed, the storm took off. We all had
our
hands
full.


     10

The column
of light
lost
and gone. The cube of darkness

expanding. The
nothing
I
walked on was a thin

coating. Did I walk
on a marsh? Did I walk on ice? Was I a bird
that didn’t
sink?


     11

The rock
sank. The bird
flew
into the dark spruce forest. Sits

somewhere and is
an owl.
Spots
everything. Sees everything

in two letters. The hairs will rise
on the back
of
a human being.


     12

Next morning
the light
returned. No one can gaze
at the

sun.
The grass swayed, as if
nothing
was the matter. The flies

in the window frame
rose from
the dead. Bouncing against the pane, they
wanted out.

The Tree and the Non-Tree

     1

A tree
is a tree and it never
gives
a press conference, neither when

it sways
in the wind
nor
falls in a gale. A tree

is a tree
and one day
it is
not.


     2

A tree is outlined
against
the blond dusk
of a June day, lifting

a blackbird
towards
the
heavenly mansions

or not. A tree
keeps quiet, as the song
gently
pulls the tree up by the roots.


     3

A tree is waiting for
no one
to
come, for the rain

to fall, for
chlorophyll
to do
its job. A tree is fumbling

with the thoughts of the wind
without
knowing
what the wind is up to.


     4

Engrossed
by its own
body, the tree stands and turns
its shadow

after the
sun
and the
wind. Reflects the tick

of the cosmic clock
without
uttering
a word.


     5

The tree and its
brother
the non-tree
are cardboard cut-outs

on the ground
where we
live. One floor down the roots
are sucking

the dark. The wind is the
disappearing
alpha
bet.


     6

The non-tree
replies: You exist, because you
hold
what the light

promises. What about me
who can
hold
nothing? Who cannot tell

is from was?
The roots
tinker
in the inkwell of the dark.


     7

And still we have not
spoken
of
non-roots. Still

we have
not
spoken of
the mirror-inverted tree

of the non-roots. The square
root
of
minus oak.

 
     8

In the dark
the pictures
don’t show on the film. In the dark
a totem pole

rises, with
carvings
that fade
when we look

closer. The only
way
to see
is with your fingertips.


     9

The
tot
em
pole

bent itself into a
life
buoy.
Time

collapsed, the storm took off. We all had
our
hands
full.


     10

The column
of light
lost
and gone. The cube of darkness

expanding. The
nothing
I
walked on was a thin

coating. Did I walk
on a marsh? Did I walk on ice? Was I a bird
that didn’t
sink?


     11

The rock
sank. The bird
flew
into the dark spruce forest. Sits

somewhere and is
an owl.
Spots
everything. Sees everything

in two letters. The hairs will rise
on the back
of
a human being.


     12

Next morning
the light
returned. No one can gaze
at the

sun.
The grass swayed, as if
nothing
was the matter. The flies

in the window frame
rose from
the dead. Bouncing against the pane, they
wanted out.
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