Poetry and Poetics
Back to this—
going back from what you are
(boss, party hack, elder statesman)
to something else, some sort of
To win people's hearts after all
years on your own little island,
gulls crying out along your private
the metropolis a formless mass across
the water, glare
of neon dancing on the waves.
A dozen clouds,
electric in the sunset. Hills
kneeling down before you.
To find at last—after the storms
of doctrine—that you can talk to
discuss a book, a film. Bandy
and sentiment without looking over
The nebulous arts and primal religions
are once again enchanting.
the hills to rise, and they do.
© by Halvard Johnson
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