Här ordsätter jag fragment av den översatta, avlyssnade, genomlevda och levrade rösten från platsen mellan, från det trinitäras terräng. Området mellan subjektets inhägnad och objektets bårhus. Och återger terrängens (klyftans) litterära speglingar och vindlande spår.
She hungered for a different story - one to respell the world she knew
Fotnavlad
What we seek is love itself, revealed now and again in human form, but pushing us beyond our humanity into animal instinct and god-like success. There is no love that does not pierce the hands and feet... Jeanette Winterson. Love, the deadly wound from which my life slowly bleeds, there I am preserved ...Birgitta Trotzig
Around the middle of the 1980's I stepped out of the straitjacket of romanticized love and one-dimensional thinking, questionmarking big words: Love? Woman? WorldWord?
A turn of the key And the door is pushed open, now... What I wanted was love Not an imitation We're heading for a fall...
And you do get what you QUESTion.
And you do fall into and through the mark.
The way of love is not a subtle argument. The door there is devastation. Birds make great sky-circles of their freedom.
How do they learn it? They fall, and falling, they are given wings.
Rumi
And I fell.
I fell from a great height Scrambling with myth and light Surrendered to a dream That was absolutely right
Children of unknown generation
Refusing to be buried alive ... But at least our souls have never been sold
Neon sign from paradise hotel across the street
Is blinking on and off and on and off and on
And the bird in my hand is promising paradise
Paradise Hoel, Eliza Gilkyson
I got a fine house, I got a deep well I'm a woman who knows how to keep to herself
Paradise found, Gretchen Peters
Homesick for myself, for her - as, later the heatwave breaks, the clear tones of the world manifest: cloud, bough, wall, insect, the very soul of light, homesick as the fluted vault of desire articulates itself: I am the lover and the loved
home and wanderer, she who splits
firewood and she who knocks, a stranger in the storm, two women, eye to eye
measuring each other's spirits each other's
limitless desire
Adrienne Rich
When soul happens to me, "she" exists as reflected in this music mirror with the Waterboys. Experienced through me, my bodysoul gets female traits...
She is so beautiful I've got no words to describe The way she makes me feel inside I'm flying solo As free as light as a bird Yet I could lay my wings down in a moment To guard and comfort her
...
For she is like a song She is like a ray of light She is like children playing Like harps and bells and cymbals playing And she is like a wind Moving, soothing, bringing joy And here am I, destroyed She is so beautiful