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White Clover (part 3)

A small, black dog came running into the wood. Sören talked to the animal in a childlike voice; it approached him, wagging its tail. Sputnik! a woman shouted indignantly. Immediately the dog returned to her. Sputnik, Alice and Sören whispered in unison and giggled. Then they talked about different dog breeds and after a while they said goodbye to each other. His broad back disappeared behind the apple tree.
She stretched herself out on the grass, ignoring possible ticks. The sudden smell of white clover. Alice drank the flower’s hay-like aroma with her nose and returned to a memory from last summer. She replayed the scene behind closed eyelids.
It was just after dusk and she was walking through a large grove with the teal-eyed person. The wide neckline of her tunic had the annoying habit of sliding down her shoulders. He was wearing a thin shirt and smelled like rosemary and algae. The stifling heat had not vanished entirely and new sweat was brewing in the valley of her spine. They s…

White Clover (part 2)

She had had longer relationships in the past; these days she regarded her lovers as disposables that lasted a couple of times and then grew dull and spiritless. Just like safety razors or paper drinking-cups. But she admitted to herself that some of them had not lost their charm at all.
Last summer Alice had been with a rare person. His crooked smile reminded her of flickering copper reflected in water. She remembered lying on her back in a park, peering at his blond hair and gentle, teal-blue eyes. In the evening they had kept her bedroom window open and waited for some sort of coolness. When it finally had arrived the scent of white clover from the unmown lawn below filled the room. After some time Alice had got on to her disposable lover theory again. This even though she had been happy with the teal-eyed man. Monogamy is nothing for bright people because bright people easily get bored, she had argued. Nah, unimaginative people easily get bored, he had replied.
Suddenly Sören becam…

White Clover (part 1)

Alice walked across the lawn outside Sören’s ground floor flat. She was wearing a cornflower blue blouse and sandals. In the distance she could hear the mourning of excavators. Right now Sören was taking a shower and then he would take ages to get ready; he could spend twenty minutes with his nose hair trimmer. Not that she wanted him to hurry up. Alice went into a small wood. The maple leaves above her head made the fierce sunshine appear softer. She sat down on the ground; no grass stains would show on her dark trousers. The opulent vegetation seemed to throb with sap. She combed her long fringe with her fingers. Her hair looked like thirsty mud, but her skin was like radiant rosewood.
The fragrance from the coniferous trees was mild. She remembered the pungent smell of some skinny pines in a dry, faraway place where she, an old boyfriend and a few other people had lived a long time ago. The tap inside their cabin had only given them a few rusty drops in the morning. Sandy dust had …

Snart

Jag är nästan färdig med min roman. Äntligen! När den är klar kommer jag att posta fler inlägg här. Jag har ett nytt bokprojekt på gång. Men jag kommer kanske även att skriva några kortnoveller. 

The Shadow Play Master

the shadow play master’s
slender but crooked fingers
and neat paper silhouettes
grow and shrink for the last time
on the wall inside the brick building

oak brass tea steam
phlegmatic applause
the master makes his exit
while charming charlatan
with wild duck in basket
makes his appearance

door creaks fox flees into bush
coach passes by copper lamppost
three afghan hounds run after the coach
their paws hardly touch the ground

the frost fog in the grove
icy through respiratory tract
the shadow play master’s green coat
with black pompoms
becomes visible through the fog
but not his flour white complexion

hoarfrost on nostril hair
pine needles become blue
only frost no snow yet.


© Jenny Enochsson 2019


This is a revised version of a poem I wrote in 2010. The Swedish version is called "Skuggspelsmästaren".

The Bronze Eyed Hare

estrid enters the dunnri forest
scent of september greenery and needle
the slumbering sun on the pine tops
she reaches the black marsh
greets the bronze eyed hare
and the idle striders on the surface
estrid digs into her apron pocket
takes out her wooden flute
and plays a whirling polska

the striders start leaping
as if the water was on fire
the copper coins at the bottom
jangling glowing jangling glowing
three spiders tie a hair round estrid’s wrist
a hair from siv’s blonde head
the bronze eyed hare sings a silvery song

go deeper into the forest green eyed lass
deeper into the forest
and find your castle of resin and rose petals
the bracelet will protect you during your journey

another tale begins.


© Jenny Enochsson 2019
The Swedish version is called "Den bronsögda haren".