There is much to admire and enjoy in that poem, Jill. Even so, I am going
to have to come back to it. I'm in danger of liking a poem because I like
its subject.
You catch a quality of that place which is very hard to pin down. I'm
trying hard not to be envious, as I haven't been there in 20 years
Thank you
L
On 1 October 2014 15:32, Jill Jones <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
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> DJURGåRDEN
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> It smells sweet here under the dying trees,
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> there's still a fruit and a high nest,
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> and laughter, none of it for you
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> and you can be happy in that.
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> You're not looking for anything
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> that hasn't been already found, you leave
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> aside grace, or desire, or violence, even
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> boredom, they do not apply.
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> You pass green trees, a green field,
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> people drinking beer, torn posters
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> in a language, pizzas and drifters in a language.
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> You pass as afternoon passes.
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> And so many bridges.
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> Sunset and neon is all to do with change,
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> it's never otherwise,
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> happiness to disgust, disquiet to joy,
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> all in a quasi-sexual movement, a light
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> that never quite leaves even one-ness.
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> It's the cells colliding, the dancing queens,
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> the drums and glittering shoulders.
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> It is in fact the skin which curls up between
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> who you are and where you've been.
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> ________________________
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> Jill Jones www.jilljones.com.au
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