Couple of poems in English

When we wake up hungover in the morning

you don't want to speak

even though you know

that what you see at night

is true

that your lips are a promise of something better

a guarantee of opening doors

the certainty of medication.

Now an alcoholic's stolen sick day shines in your eyes

the caution of a cat

undetermined back pain

there are slowly descending steps in your speech.

The elevator of your lashes goes up and down

on an abandoned bench

your hair sways like a forest of pines

you sit in your yellow boots

with empty cans for company

you can't get out of the park

without collecting every one

of your discarded relationships.

*

You are a shelter at which to halt

without a timetable

to scrape shit off the bottom of your shoes

read the route from memory

how the men on your beaches lick

escape

the nameless

ring finger

scratchy dreams in a box

memories of the cries of gulls

the grimacing wallpaper

the license to be free

to pick the unknown mushrooms, too

the radio frequency at your ear

to understand forms as they are

the seductive peck of the rain

desire tattooed on humanity

to disappear

deeper than thoughts

into the gaps between buildings.

*

To grab the handle of grandma's house

inhale your nostrils full

of an eternal afternoon

the smell of coffee

the napping dresser is adorned with dried roses

the memory of a bygone anniversary

when we might have danced on the lawn

barefooted

in our childhood hut

boys shoot their slingshots

a bee purrs pure fear

of mother never returning

not tomorrow, not on Monday

but when it's all too late

the code cannot be guessed

and the radio falls silent mid-announcement

the next day the world is different

scabs on our knees

as the train jolts past like a thought

you can't get the smell of hay, dark hands

out of your head

overturned stones

drops of water fall from the branches

and form a puddle where the sun plays marbles

and no one in the yard can say

where the city ends

or where nature begins.

*

I'm afraid

of people's eyes in paintings coming to life

the sky is not the home of the clouds

the axe always gets caught on a branch

and I find myself

in a cancer ward

wearing the house gown on the balcony

my breathing gangly

suddenly understanding through tubes

that after the last measure

everyone runs out of oxygen

the janitor wakes before dawn

sweeps my cigarette butts off the street.

That others don't

To wipe the birdshit off the cottage railing

the bad thoughts from my mind

to face the pressure without alcohol

a yearning to where I can't return

to write you closer

write you forth

to make us immortal

toilet rolls whirl along the verge

and again I expect

to understand who we are

what is this burning

angry stones in our shoes

bent coins

a window, oozing with age,

that never needs to be cleaned

to see the slowly deepening grooves on my face

caresses on a neck

to be absorbed toward you

to wrap you in these words

and turn off the radio.

Little by little I'm closer

to the right idea

your lips

a look that lingers

because you see something in me

that others don't

you know how I tremble

and you're allowed to have secrets

the power to crush me

and you don't want to

wade through life

to leave anything unsaid

but to smile at ordinary things

take steps towards desire

to see that I have the potential

to be everything

that makes you whole.

After a daydream

I wake up on the cot and remember

that last night I shot my grandmother with an air rifle

I can't say if it was a nightmare

but right now I'd love to ask

for an expert opinion

light a fire and watch

how sweet smoke rises

from inside a tin box.

*

At the railway station

I smoke one more on the platform

I watch where the wind blows the cigarette smoke

and follow it.

*

The sun sets behind the bird-watcher's tower

like a cigarette falling into reeds

from the fingers of a sleeper.

Translations: Kasper Salonen