That young woman asleep in the armchair
is my future wife
soft thighs underneath her skirt
the faraway neck,
her eyes move behind the eyelids,
she does not know that she loves me,
how the burning flowers
are soon going to awaken her up
with their scent

BICYCLE

At the edge of the field you get off
the bicycle,
You have pedalled far into
the countryside,
the damp backs of plants
still asleep,
You kick pebbles on the highway,
listen to a nightingale,
its language full of starlight
that slowly dies down;
And you climb back on the saddle,
continue towards morning,
and the sleep.

Les bouleaux dispersent dans le vent
le ciel exsude l’or
Son coeur s’est cassé aux morceaux
il ne fonctionne plus

Australia, Australia.
Rustle of wings,
and a pair of eyes.
Burning gumtrees
and the kookaburra’s
mischievous cries.

UPDATE:

A new version of this poem is called

THE RED CENTRE

A rustle of wings,
and a pair of eyes.
Burning gumtrees,
mischievous cries.
A kookaburra laughing
at the red centre
of lovers and lies.

(27.9.2007)

VUORISAARNA II

Onnellisia ovat sisältä köyhät.
He saavat isältä palkan.

Onnellinen olet sinä
joka itket silmäsi puhki.
Sinun silmäsi kuivataan.

Ja sinä hiljainen, ole iloinen:
sinulle annetaan korvat kuulla.

Sinä joka etsit paikkaasi, älä pelkää mitään.
Sinä joka etsit jumalaasi,
älä pelkää ketään.

Onnellisia ovat sydämestä puhtaat.
Onnellisia ne
jotka tekevät sovinnon.

Onnellinen olet sinä
jota haukutaan,
ajetaan piiloon, vuorille,
maanpakoon.

Onnellinen olet sinä josta juorutaan.
Sinusta puhutaan
hyvää taivaassa.

***

Selitykseksi: Tämä runo on hiukan muunneltuna sama, jonka kirjoitin n. vuonna 1986 asuessani Haminassa. Minusta se toimii edelleen.

DARLING HARBOUR

The highrise office fingers
point into the space,
you descend on to the darling
harbour quay, stand
on the doting wood,
the neon coloured water
shining in your eyes you return
to me still, you clamber
on to my neck, your cheek
leaving a wet mark
on mine.

*

NEONVALOVETTÄ

Tornitalotoimistojen sormet
osoittavat avaruuteen,
laskeudut laiturille,
lahoavan puun varaan,
silmiesi värissä satama-altaan
neonvalovettä,
palaat takaisin vielä,
kiipeät kaulalleni:
poskestasi jää märkä
jälki poskelleni.

Markus Jääskeläinen:
In the beginning
From Testamentti (Testament), Otava, 1998.
(Translated by Herbert Lomas)

i
At the beginning of the aeons the earth was sand. Here and there were
little stones still, they were a relic of the rocks that
covered the earth, since a beginning is an end and there is no
end like forgetfulness.
In the beginning the earth was sand. A level sandy
desert stretched in all directions; the sand merged into the shore of the sky. It was
hot. The air shimmered. Other movement there was not. There was no wind
since there was no water.
One day (night and day had been discovered) footprints
Appeared in the sand. Sandals, a grown-up man’s.
The man had walked without a stop, straight ahead, following
the sun till the sun disappeared and night came.
We never saw his prints again. We began
a story in which we hovered above a dead
landscape, we dimmed our cabin lights, vainly watched
the glowing eyes of a dying fire.
We sought him but didn’t find him. We saw
his footprints, which appeared on the border of day, walked
to the ridges of the dunes and descended into the valley with no
shadow.
We followed the footprints from the air for many days.
We studied the surface shining below us, we grew blind.
We couldn’t grasp that our ship was a mirror that marked off our hand
from the black sun, our feet from flying eyes
of sand.

ii

We decided to land, to walk. We confounded our footprints
with the predecessor’s prints, we rejoiced in freedom like a runaway
child, we gathered under a blind sky, we saw
our arms, our legs: hair grew on them.
We walked and slept. We slept while we walked.
We began to dream, to create - as if night had mingled
with day - with trees around us, lakes and grass.
We bent our heads to the tussock and picked the fruit
from the trees. We ate and drank. We got full and
our bellies grew. We couldn’t move any more, we
built a house that we lived in, where we gathered
on snowy winter evenings. We burnt the trees
that had given us their fruit. We fell asleep to the sound of flames.
In the morning memories mastered us. We spread
our arms out, rolled our heads; some of us laughed
at a dream where we saw the dim footprints,
the sand stretching to the horizon.
They didn’t go on anymore.

iii

Our group was smaller, our step lighter. We doubted
Less, we were happy. We enjoyed each other as
the animals enjoy each other, we imagined we saw a person’s
outlines in the light of the sun too, imagined we weren’t
far off.
But the clarity didn’t last. The black line of night darkened
the day, the sparkling campfire didn’t keep off
the darkness. We prayed in the silence, washed the dishes.
We lay down without speaking about the future, we wrapped our arms
around our chests. We squeezed ourselves in a dream in which
things froze, we rushed to the walls. We chopped
trees that fell, and as they fell tore dead branches
from the neighbouring trees.

iv

We guessed the end. It didn’t come to us like night, which sucks
day’s floating light into its black mouth. It was a sound
we didn’t hear, which wiped away our words like the footprints
in the sand, separated soul from soul.
It was no longer us. They left the camp one by one,
walking in opposite directions. Their legs didn’t
falter, they hardly felt the wind they disappeared into;
which opened its breast to them like a mother, lulled them into a long
sleep.
I alone did not depart; I who tell it.
I gathered the gear into a great heap, set fire to it. I lay down
in the last tatters of tent, looked at the cloudy sky.
Like a bird: alone, alone!

v

The sound recorder’s flow will soon end. I put it in my pocket,
lower my arms to my sides: I’ve time enough to wait.
The water wets my defenceless body, the sun’s tired
hair opens out over human speech, over
the history books.

I know there are no memories.

Jotta voisin elää.

Oli lähdettävä,
tultava uudeksi
kuin vastakaadettu puu.

Hengitys kulkee
keuhkojen oksistossa
enkä minä enää liikahda paikaltani.

LOMAPÄIVÄ RANNALLA

Värifilmissä vuosien takaa
pieni poika kissa sylissään
katsoo kameraan, hymyilee,
kääntyy ystäviensä puoleen;
kohti leikkiä joka jatkuu
kuin ei loppuisi koskaan.
Kamera kuvaa yksinäistä tietä
vuorten keskellä, se laskeutuu
rannalle, kokonaiset perheet,
palvelijat, herrasväki,
ajaneet kaukaa kaupungista
viettämään lomapäivää.
Työn virta on katkennut,
velvollisuuksien, huolien sade laannut
ikuistetun päivän ajaksi;
naiset pukeutuneet keväisiin,
liehuviin mekkoihin,
heidän hiustensa suojana
kukkivat lierihatut,
miehet, partasuut, seisovat
suorin selin, katsovat merelle,
kohti kauneutta johon
tahtoisivat tarttua,
maalata kankaalle, pukea sanoiksi.
Mutta kauneus on suuri,
siitä ei saa kiinni:
tämän hetken sielussa
alaston kylmä ilo elämästä,
sen yltä revitty vaatteet vihdoinkin.

Auckland 9.8.2007

[Kuva: Matkalla jossain Uudessa Seelannissa.]

Sanavarastot,
välimerkit,
merkitsevät tauot:
matka sade
pisarasta
sadepisaraan.