My mother recently gave me a small collection of poetry from "one of the most influential figures in modernist Swedish poetry." It consisted of a collection called Ideals Clearance written by Henry Parland in 1929, a year before he would die at the young age of 22. I'm 22. If I were Henry Parland, I'd be dead.
Anyways, I wanted to share to pieces from the poet that got me thinking...
wants something from me
even the cigarette smoke
coils question marks
doors threaten to devour me,
the matches' legs
are so long and hungry,
the coffee cups curl their pale lips
that when we one day creep out
we will stand on a beach
with runny noses,
wrapped up in the raincoats of our personalities
and watch ice floes drift past.