where are you?

behind the birch trees

the sun flares up

missä olet?

auringon leimahdus

koivujen takaa

Rea Lehtonen

getting colder now

the pebbles on this path

feel jagged under me

kivien särmät

viilenneellä polulla

vasta havaisin

Rea Lehtonen

The Polar Night and the Midnight Sun

There is light in the world,

all of which has escaped from the Sun.

Light can be seen 

and by light we can see.

How enlightening!

There is also darkness in the world.

Darkness of the mind and darkness of the sight.

The polar night, that we call kaamos,

is a tough situation.

That sunless duration,

that conquers the poles,

as our tilted globe moves

on its year-long orbit,

leaving the northern and southern caps

in alternating shade for long periods.

Close to the North Pole, in Finnish Utsjoki,

the Sun disappears below the horizon for seven weeks.

Still, in this darkest of times,

at least the suggestion of light remains.

It brings comfort, such as the scent of roasting mocha

when one is withering from coffee deprivation.

There is a similar darkness in the Antarctic.

By then, summer will have returned to the north

and joy and light will reach their zenith.

The Sun will not once consent to set.

For the tourist, the night without night denies belief.

They have to wake many times,

to peek through the blinds.

22:00 sunshine.

00:00 sunshine.

02:00 sunshine.

04:00 sunshine.

How can anyone live in such an impossible country?!

Heli Laaksonen

 Wild geese

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

Mary Oliver

Onni mahtuu 

pariin riviin.

Joskus jopa niiden väliin.

Pekka Kytömäki

              ~

Happiness can fit into

a couple of lines.

Sometimes even between them.

Donald Adamson

              ~

Kastua sateessa, kuivua auringossa.

Vaikeinta yksinkertaisin,

ettei pelmahtaisi täyteen tuulta,

mahtailisi väreillä ja kuoseillaan.

Arto Lappi

                ~

To get wet in the rain, dry in the sun.

The most difficult thing, and the simplest,

not parading around or being puffed up,

boasting, shouting, waving colours and flags.

Donald Adamson

                ~

Omenapuiden

kukat avautuvat

kuin sateenvarjot,

niiden kauneudelta

on mahdotonta suojautua.

Arto Lappi

                ~

The apple blossom,

opening up

like umbrellas.

There's no sheltering

from such beauty.

Donald Adamson

                 ~

Tyyneyden väri: myrskyävän meren valkoinen.

Niklas Salmi

                ~

The colour of calm: the white of an ocean growing stormy.

Donald Adamson

                ~

Linnut näkevät 

muovisen perintömme.

Ihme että ne

vielä laulavat meille.

Pekka Kytömäki

                ~

The birds can see

what we've bequeathed -

plastic. It's a wonder they still

sing to us.

Donald Adamson

Some Glad Morning

One day, something very old

happened again. The green

came back to the branches,

settling like leafy birds

on the highest twigs;

the ground broke open

as dark as coffee beans.

The clouds took up their

positions in the deep stadium

of the sky, gloving the

bright orb of the sun

before they pitched it

over the horizon.

It was as good as ever:

the air was filled

with the scent of lilacs

and cherry blossoms

sounded their long

whistle down the track

It was some glad morning.

Joyce Sutphen

I see the sun, and if I don’t see the sun, I know it’s there. And there’s a whole life in that, in knowing that the sun is there.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Spring Quiet
Christina Rossetti (from Verses, 1847)

Gone were but the Winter,
Come were but the Spring,
I would go to a covert
Where the birds sing.

Where in the whitethom
Singeth a thrush,
And a robin sings
In the holly-bush.

Full of fresh scents
Are the budding boughs
Arching high over
A cool green house:

Full of sweet scents,
And whispering air
Which sayeth softly:
“We spread no snare;

Here dwell in safety,
Here dwell alone,
With a clear stream
And a mossy stone.

Here the sun shineth
Most shadily;
Here is heard an echo
Of the far sea,
Though far off it be.”

Note on Kitchen Table

I will be back soon to bake some bread,

But now I'm picking wild berries instead,

Out in the meadows, under the sun.

I know I'm leaving my work undone,

But the wind was soft on summer grass;

The trees stood up tall for me to pass;

And the blue sky smiled and bent down low.

So what could I do but laugh and go?

Mary Martin Palma 

Lempeät sanat

tulevat kuin sumusta

menevät ohi

jääden silti jonnekin,

mieleen pohjimmaiseksi.

Arto Lappi/Laululento