THE TREE AND THE NON-TREE Comments

1

A tree
is a tree and it never
gives
a press conference, neither when

it sways
in the wind
nor
falls in a gale. A tree

is a tree
and one day
it is
not.


2

A tree is outlined
against
the blond dusk
of a June day, lifting

a blackbird
towards
the
heavenly mansions

or not. A tree
keeps quiet, as the song
gently
pulls the tree up by the roots.


3

A tree is waiting for
no one
to
come, for the rain

to fall, for
chlorophyll
to do
its job. A tree is fumbling

with the thoughts of the wind
without
knowing
what the wind is up to.


4

Engrossed
by its own
body, the tree stands and turns
its shadow

after the
sun
and the
wind. Reflects the tick

of the cosmic clock
without
uttering
a word.


5

The tree and its
brother
the non-tree
are cardboard cut-outs

on the ground
where we
live. One floor down the roots
are sucking

the dark. The wind is the
disappearing
alpha
bet.


6

The non-tree
replies: You exist, because you
hold
what the light

promises. What about me
who can
hold
nothing? Who cannot tell

is from was?
The roots
tinker
in the inkwell of the dark.


7

And still we have not
spoken
of
non-roots. Still

we have
not
spoken of
the mirror-inverted tree

of the non-roots. The square
root
of
minus oak.


8

In the dark
the pictures
don't show on the film. In the dark
a totem pole

rises, with
carvings
that fade
when we look

closer. The only
way
to see
is with your fingertips.


9

The
tot
em
pole

bent itself into a
life
buoy.
Time

collapsed, the storm took off. We all had
our
hands
full.


10

The column
of light
lost
and gone. The cube of darkness

expanding. The
nothing
I
walked on was a thin

coating. Did I walk
on a marsh? Did I walk on ice? Was I a bird
that didn't
sink?


11

The rock
sank. The bird
flew
into the dark spruce forest. Sits

somewhere and is
an owl.
Spots
everything. Sees everything

in two letters. The hairs will rise
on the back
of
a human being.


12

Next morning
the light
returned. No one can gaze
at the

sun.
The grass swayed, as if
nothing
was the matter. The flies

in the window frame
rose from
the dead. Bouncing against the pane, they
wanted out.
...
Read full text