Books from Finland - A literary journal of writing from and about Finland.

Poems from Viivoitettu uni (‘A ruled dream’, Tammi, 1996). Introduction by Riina Katajavuori

Driving in the countryside awakens painful memories.
An apple fell into the back seat of our cabriolet
and was eaten. The core was not laid to rest.
It rotted, it vapourised, it disappeared before our very eyes
as we stared at it …. How can driving in the countryside
bring such agony?
How are trees, how are clouds,
how are ladders not
as they are?

•

The disappearance of memory resembles emptiness.
Many people fall ill with it.
The ambulance sings quietly
in the sand-pit

•

There is no hope.
The image we
have of the eye
stays open

•

1.
A dark kitchen.
A man aims a revolver
at the refrigerator door, which is
opening slowly. The kitchen lights up.
The man turns round and asks, is anyone hungry.
From upstairs the howling of wolves is heard.
The man turns back, and hisses:
‘You two-faced rat!’
The refrigerator door closes
and the kitchen goes dark.

2.
A lighted kitchen.
A man asks whether his wife
has seen his red tie anywhere.
‘The spotted one?’ his wife asks.
‘No, the cheque red one,’
the wife hears her husband reply.

3.
A dark kitchen.
A lighted kitchen.
And nothing between.

•

I used to feel sorry for supermarket trolleys.
Now I have seen them creeping
up to the edges of parking lots.
The sea wind cleanses them of the still-lifes
that are imagined in their laps.
I used to feel sorry for supermarket trolleys
the skittering wheel whose destination is the fog

•

At the junction between the railway
and the miniature railway
our dreams collide

•

Children are afraid that
their dolls are not good enough for the worms.
Such a game would never end

•

Hospital coffee is really good.
Must remember to wash
your hands in it

•

Legacy

When the great winter comes
I make a slow habitation
so as not to separate myself
from the blood’s circulation
that remains.

But when the house
I move into when I die
paints me, spring is the only gold
I carry

•

A ruled dream.
In it you order me
to start composing music. I show how empty
are an angel’s hands and weep my contribution
into the flood of grey light that
washes her away