Travel like a tree,
as if I'm always at home -- The world's coming past.
"Ziehende Landschaft" ("Moving landscape", 1955, Hilde Domin)
The nights are silent,
the ferries out of service -- everyone in bed.
The snow stops traffic,
all I can do is stand still -- with my own shadow.
Collection "Between where"
They say things must change
With me the whole world stands still Life just stays the same
Nothing changes when you change nothing
Rainy days mud
my garden, the golden root is rotting my wishing well spills over I am spent flaccid roads to the city get me nowhere, no one wants to pay for that, the world stands still my little son is sleepwalking around me by touch, cow and calf look at me and frown, sighing vapours muffled by the fine droplets of rainy tears on the globes of my eyes the sachets of water in which the world always is upside down a violet hangs and thinks: mud will become waterproof slate, eventually
Golden root: Rhodiola Rosea, it grows in Siberia and is also called Roseroot
In French, the Viola tricolor is called “Pensée” (Thought) Collection “Pending rain”
It all came to a standstill,
A day when time stood still, A beautiful world, fogged and grey, Grief was its own land, okay? But the sun arose the next day, And we woke up anyway, When the past was a distant land, Time stood still, not so grand........