Monday, 14 March 2016

Miniature Poetry - Rabbe Enckell

The morning dew has placed small weights
in the dew-cup’s bowl — the scales are even.
With quivering blades the lawn checks
the weight of each drop.
But the sun dips his finger in the dew so that nothing is left. And the nettles in the ditch know full well
that the dew’s weights are merely bunglers’ trinkets compared to the gigantic river in Pernambuco.


I am the springtime’s deepest
filled with water.
I am keeping quiet.
But one day
the forest will talk about me

Rabbe Enckell (1903-1974) Finland
Translated by David McDuff

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