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den 18 december 2008 - 08:51
Det behövs lite poesi idag, så här är Hands. Den satte jag upp vid mitt skrivbord när min kusin Siv Cedering dog förra året. Här är hennes dikt;
Hands
When I fall asleep
my hands leave me.
They pick up pens
and draw creatures
with five feathers
on each wing.
The creatures multiply.
They say: "We are large
like your father's
hands."
They say: "We have
your mother's
knuckles."
I speak to them:
"If you are hands,
why don't you
touch?"
And the wings beat
the air, clapping.
They fly
high above elbows
and wrists.
They open windows
and leave
rooms.
They perch in treetops
and hide under bushes
biting
their nails. "Hands,"
I call them.
But it is fall
and all creatures
with wings
prepare to fly
South.
Siv Cedering
Här är en kort beskrivning av henne;
http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/190
Jag hittade en blogg av en av Sivs bekanta, den heter tansiosiok.com.
Där har en vän skrivit denna dikt om henne:
Jane Ciabattari who penned the tribute, fashioned a poem from a voice mail that Siv Cedering left for her, informing her that she has a relapse of cancer.
MESSAGE
Hi darling friend, it’s me.
I don’t know what you’ve heard…
So I’m reluctant…
To tell you…
I have bad news…
The cancer is back.
It’s not good.
I’m sorry.
Whatever you’re doing today, have fun.
Orioles are everywhere. Can you hear them?
I’m back, at home.
It would be great to see you.
Call me. I love you.
Write a beautiful poem.
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