You walked with me through your blackberry grove.
Nettles and thorns wedged us in.
you went before me, me behind you.
The sun threw golden flecks in the foliage.
We came to the freeway, signs with
City names stretched across it:
Homeland welcomes you!
All was temptation, which opened,
Far away in a clear lane, neither
ended nor began. I wanted
say something, how: “Here!” But the
The sun competed with the silver gravel,
Migros lettering and factories shone
like gigantic coral reefs, burned blood red
were all nameless stubble, dirty
Tufts of dusted magic glitter.
Better than any Copacabana fake, war’s, anyway.
you went before me, but me behind.
When she's already on you at the corner
was waiting, and you went away holding her hand.
—-
You now leaving Homeland.
Thank you for your visit.
—-
(28.6.22)
(I had a book of poems by Gabriela Mistral by the Chilean poet for a long time, her poems were breathtakingly sad and beautiful, 1945 Gabriela Mistral received the Nobel Prize for Literature. The poem, that I lean on, started like this:
“He went with someone else.
velvet of the wind.
In peace the way.
The hawthorn broke open,
a song blows by.”
Then I don't know what to do anymore.
Now this poem, should, fix a degree if possible, what these memories from Brügg mean to me. There are still a thousand moments, where everything is there again, in front of me as present! It is, like I don't have a normal human sense of time, but lived the present prolonged, again and again, as if she had just arrived. It may have something to do with my illness or with the chronic lack of events in my life. My body also repeatedly experiences the past as a flashback, the few moments, where I experienced something big, seem too intense, than I could leave them behind. I am physically out of time, Life, that happens to me, i have to process u again again…..I live in the after, where others have arrived long in the future, I have to with the whole organism, with all your soul to deal with that, what I can't absorb and process in one go.