Hello World

Hello World

Guest post by Kristin: apples in my garden

Hi, I am Kristin at Krickelin and I am
 guest blogging here today.

I usually write about pink flowers, messy thoughts,
tangled braided hair and nude bathing in the ocean.

But, let me put these things aside
and welcome september and  the autumn.

Let me tell you about the small apple tree 
outside my kitchen window.
Bugs are eating on the apples
so that my kids refuse to take them to school.
But I use them.
A lot.

Apple pie with vanilla ice cream.

Apple kisses.

Apple games in the garden.

Grilled apples with cinnamon.

Apple martini with my love.

I wish you a wonderful autumn.

Some thought about change....

When i took a little walk early this morning i noticed how much change the nature in my neighborhood had gone through just in the last several days. Autumn seems to have set in full speed here now and i can't use the words "late summer" anymore when i am describing the days because suddenly there is VERY AUTUMN here. All the late summer apples in my neighbors garden have fallen to the ground, yellow and orange leaves are dancing in the wind and not to mention the air: so fresh now that my cheecks fastly turns red.
I have been writing on a letter to a friend these days and i was writing down some lines of John O'Donohue, a writer and poet that we both treasure.These are the lines:

"To break the dead shell of yesterdays. To risk beeing disturbed and changed". 

Oh how i LOVE these words....and when i wrote them down these incredibly beautiful photos (that i have fallen completely in love with) by Madelyn appeared in my thoughts. For me her photos ARE poems.
Both the words of O'Donohue and the photos by Madelyn makes me think about change.......change both in nature and in my own everyday life.......it reminds me of what nature has learnt me over and over again while i have been viewing the changes of season: to resist less...to trust more....to let go more.....to embrace more....

Scandinavian poetry, part eight.

I am so facinated by all the insects and small animals there is to be found around us,
this little one took a rest on my veranda floor some days back. He reminds me of a King wearing his long soft velvet cape! A while back i read the book The sound of a wild snail eating and in summer The book of bees, it is such a facinating thing to learn more about the worlds of these tiny creatures...

A poem
by the norwegian poet Rolf Jacobsen (1907-1994)

Green light

Creatures that rustle in the shadows, all the crooked
deformed ones in the world, with tiny feet and far too many eyes,
can hide in the grass- that's why its there,
silent and full of moonlight among the continents.

I have lived in the grass among the small ones that resemble broken twigs.
From their towers of cowslip the bumblebees came like bells
into my heart with words of magic order.
The wind took my poem and spread it out like dust.

I have lived in the grass with the Earth and i have heard it breath-
like an animal that has walked a long way and is thirsting for the water holes
and i felt it lie down heavily on its side in the evening like a buffalo,
in the darkness between the stars, where there is room.

The dance of the winds and the great wildfires in the grass i remember often;
-the shadow play of smiles on a face that always shows forgiveness.
But why it has such great patience with us deep down in its iron core,
its huge magnesium heart, we are far from understanding.

For we have forgotten this; that the Earth is a star of grass,
a seed-planet, swirling with spores as with cloudes from sea to sea,
a whirl of them. Seeds take hold under the cobblestones
and between the letters in my poem, here they are.

Translated by Roger Greenwald.
From North in the world: Selected poems of Rolf Jacobsen.

Scandinavian poetry, part seven

by Rolf Jacobsen

Colors are words’ little sisters. They can’t become soldiers.
I’ve loved them secretly for a long time.
They have to stay home and hang up the sheer curtains
of our familiar kitchen, bedroom and den.

I’m very close to young Crimson, and brown Sienna
but even closer to thoughtful Cobalt with her distant eyes and
     untrampled spirit.
We walk in dew.
The night sky and the southern oceans
are her possessions
and a tear-shaped pendant on her forehead:
the pearls of Cassiopeia.
We walk in dew on late nights.

But the others.
Meet them on a June morning at four o’clock
when they come rushing toward you,
on your way to a morning swim in the green cove’s spray.
Then you can sunbathe with them on the smooth rocks.
     -Which one will you make yours?

Translated by Roger Greenwald.
From North in the world: Selected poems of Rolf Jacobsen.


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