Showing posts with label Gösta Ågren. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gösta Ågren. Show all posts

9/2/16

Action - Gösta Ågren

Every victory concludes
itself.  What remains is the way,
the same way again.  It is
possible to learn
knowledge, to conceal that
wild, nameless bird
beneath a name.  It is easy
to realise one's dreams
if one sacrifices them. And
the years, the years go by.  Yet
you must act now.
More profound than all that you do
is all that you are.  The most profound
is all that you must do
in order to be able to remain
who you are.

2/8/16

Afraid - Gösta Ågren

He was afraid of freedom,
for he wanted to be free to
choose it. He was afraid
of happiness, for he was afraid
of the time when the party is
over, also that part of the party
that consists of the time when
it is over. He was afraid of
life, for it lacked
secrecy, and therefore
mercy, and the reward  

for living, death,
was not enough, for
he was not afraid 
of it.

12/16/15

At Dusk - Gösta Ågren

I will be forgotten,
he thinks. Oblivion is
a deep mother. No one
will touch you there; no one
will forget you any more.

Advice - Gösta Ågren

When the silence begins to feel
oppressive
people ought to talk to one another; otherwise
it will stop.

12/9/15

Leo, His Life - Gösta Ågren

It was difficult to be, not
for the human in him, but for
the animal, which had not the strength to carry
the leaden weight of consciousness. The knowledge
that he was alive prevented him
from living. It formed
a sleepless face that looked
at his emotions until they crept
away like actors
from a bad performance
and that thought that he thought,
until each thought deepened to
nothing in this cold light. He
was himself the enemy, and wrote
books in order to defeat himself,
but in such a battle the only
possible victory is too great.
He won. In the silence
afterwards came a few
last fumbling words.

10/25/15

The Picture of Grandfather and Grandmother - Gösta Ågren

There they stand, seemingly without
secrets, for years and poverty
have made them distinct. Yet
the camera lies, like all who
say nothing except merely
the truth. He did as others do,
became a father, built his house.
She helped sick folk, practiced
kindness. But all his movements
were fingers of ash, fumbling
as the cold floor-draught
willed. Her kindness resembled all
other: a sternness that never
exhorts, but demands. Early
she knew it was
her only protection. So
it may have been, but perhaps
our life is only a line
in the poem about our life. Perhaps
we are not the name
we write, but
the nameless hand
that grasps the pen.

6/1/15

Victory - Gösta Ågren

The victor has no reason
to compete.  There is nothing
stronger than strength.  Your
victory is only a sign
that you need it.