the copenhagen review

editor: gordon walmsley
issue no. 6
back issues: 1 2 3 4 5

  • Welcome
  • Worth the Read
  • Tom Schulz
  • Håkon Sandell
  • Knud Sørensen
    • Knud Sørensen – English
  • Jørgen Sonne
    • Liv
    • Life
    • Logbog
    • Logbook
    • Nat
    • Night
  • Carmen Firan
  • Amy Trussell
  • Jon Fosse
    • Five Poems
    • Karsten Sand Iversen: Gentagelsensmusik – Om Jon Fosse
  • Andrei Bely
    • From: Journals of a Cracked One
    • Christ is Arisen
    • About Myself as a Writer
  • Silke Scheuermann
    • Ballerina
  • Aleksandar Sajin
  • Louise C. Callaghan

Night

amor che muove il sol

And out of the dark in its bounding
a veil flickering
           how it rises and falls
                      billowing about you
how you rise up out of the black milk
churning and spraying
                      in its bottomless vat, -
And you cast the grain out in sparkles
           showering the endless fields,
           ripening in the fluttering heaps of glints, -
While an ember sprouts from the dark
           breaking out in the deeper crown
                      the greenery of star-trees spreading on over you
Laying its shade over sultry flanks
           oozing
                      dripping down in streaks and wink
                      within the aroma of a wish, -
There, in the midst of the Circle Of Animals,
                      circling you
making claw marks through the darkness, -
In the visible billows of moon in your breasts
           the storm surge rushing over black seas
           for the winds blowing down through the ages
In your belly, heat and current are rising
           so that suns grow and throb within it
burning themselves out in redness
in the birth of death
with all the generations of heavenly bodies, -

           Down through the depths you go
closer and redolent
with your caustic fire,
your unbearable glance,
making my bones wail, Who are You,
hurling yourself into the crevices of my body
           burning the marrow in them,
pulling up the chains of the mountains in the root of me
           the wounded mountains crying out of the flesh
from the careening rims of scars,
Love, drawing near.

 

Translation GSW

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