Okay, så det er på norsk nå

Jeg tror kanskje jeg skal skrive denne bloggen på norsk, fra nå av. Når jeg begynte å skrive i denne delikate saken, var engelsk mer "moi toungue due Recheloir"( Det var bare noe jeg fant på, men det hørtes fint ut, nescafe?). Uansett, jeg tror den skal være på norsk fra nå av. Ikke akkurat som om det har noe som helst å si lizm, whether denne patetiske bloggen er på norsk eller engelsk. Whatever.

Jeg fant et dikt fra bok nummer to som jeg nettopp så litt igjenom:

SKADI
By Richard Evans Baye
She entered the reception like some minor abrasion
A wound in the centre of the universe
Legs like milky tree-stems
Hair even whiter still

She makes me think of some mythological
Creature
A siren, a goddess, a valkyre
Banshee
She drags me to Norse peaks
with bone-like dust on the tops
She drags me into wind that screams
She drags me to Viking thieves

Like that Norse Goddess
Skadi
A giantess of frigid blight
Her white hair is a flutter
As she moves down the reception-hall, closer to sight

She asks me for a room
It’s on fourth floor
Her voice is still as she thanks me

I think about the name
Skadi
That someone told me that
“skade”
Is the Norwegian word for
Harm

If she is the harming or the harmed
I do not know
The bet is on a fair share of both
But what is sure is that there is great
PainUnder her black, silky cloth

She vanishes into the elevator
The machinery carrying the weight
Of A
God

Later she flutters, returns
Her hair like Medusa’s snakes
Strands moving around, the shade of many milks
A tear gathers in her eye
Skadi blinks
Colorless arms creates gales of fury
Skadi’s steps upon the cold rocks
The eerie sounds of keys in locks
A trail follows her
Cosmic, glittering, lethal, glacial

Frost

Plutselig kom jeg tilbake til den tiden jeg skrev bok nummer to. Det livet virker livsaldre siden, fjernt og hundrevis av mil borte. Nesten en fantomsmerte.

Weird how time disstorts things.