(the original interpretation from the Swedish, and reworked versions)
I
Cunning drips in the flytrap of narcissism
within the custody of gravity;
noses in necks, necks nose-nested;
final beginning, beginning end,
nearest farthest,
the constant face in the dirt;
dragged, rubbed, rosy
– in a faint respite: the slow light,
sweet-sour chill, scratching thoughts,
orbiting worlds in a seed-bearing sky;
only the worst bad enough, the just-right always worst,
meticulous rarely grand,
but all times now, all places here,
all places now, all times here,
far off in the forest, right in town,
the knight on the height;
a stray thought in the trajectory of supersonic,
civilisation in the balance, mene mene tekel ufarsin,
without legacy, no faculty of speech;
a silence of tin & turpentine
around a faint deviation
out of a leaden will to fight, a blow at the matter
and the result evil to God; a civilisation that stutters
under Borderline-Moloch
II
Cunning drips in the flytrap of narcissism,
kept in gravity’s ward;
noses in necks, necks enwreathed,
first of the last, last of the first,
nearest, farthest,
the eternal face pressed in dirt –
dragged, abraded, flushed with false bloom.
A frail reprieve: the slow light,
sweet-sour frost, clawing thoughts,
worlds wheeling in seed-borne air;
only the worst is bad enough, the measured ever the worst,
rare precision, seldom splendour,
yet all time is now, all place is here,
all place is now, all time is here:
deep in the forest, amid the town,
the knight upon the height.
A stray thought hurled in supersonic flight,
civilisation upon the scales: mene mene tekel ufarsin –
without legacy, speech unformed.
A silence of tin and turpentine
encircles a faint deflection
from a leaden will to strife; a blow struck,
and the outcome evil to God.
A civilisation falters,
crushed beneath Borderline-Moloch.
III
Cunning seeps in the trap of the self.
Gravity binds.
Faces ground into dust.
First is last, last is first.
All time now. All place here.
Knight on the height,
forest and city alike.
A thought breaks the sound-barrier.
Weighed, found wanting.
Silence of tin and turpentine.
A will of lead, a blow struck.
Evil unto God.
Civilisation stammers,
devoured by Borderline-Moloch.
IV
Trap of self.
Gravity’s chain.
Face in dust.
First = last.
Now = all.
Here = all.
Knight on height.
Forest / city.
Thought: supersonic.
Weighed. Wanting.
Tin. Turpentine.
Will of lead.
Blow struck.
Evil to God.
Civilisation – stammer.
Moloch.
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
Read 1001 times
Written on 2025-09-27 at 11:02
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Borderline-Moloch
I
Cunning drips in the flytrap of narcissism
within the custody of gravity;
noses in necks, necks nose-nested;
final beginning, beginning end,
nearest farthest,
the constant face in the dirt;
dragged, rubbed, rosy
– in a faint respite: the slow light,
sweet-sour chill, scratching thoughts,
orbiting worlds in a seed-bearing sky;
only the worst bad enough, the just-right always worst,
meticulous rarely grand,
but all times now, all places here,
all places now, all times here,
far off in the forest, right in town,
the knight on the height;
a stray thought in the trajectory of supersonic,
civilisation in the balance, mene mene tekel ufarsin,
without legacy, no faculty of speech;
a silence of tin & turpentine
around a faint deviation
out of a leaden will to fight, a blow at the matter
and the result evil to God; a civilisation that stutters
under Borderline-Moloch
II
Cunning drips in the flytrap of narcissism,
kept in gravity’s ward;
noses in necks, necks enwreathed,
first of the last, last of the first,
nearest, farthest,
the eternal face pressed in dirt –
dragged, abraded, flushed with false bloom.
A frail reprieve: the slow light,
sweet-sour frost, clawing thoughts,
worlds wheeling in seed-borne air;
only the worst is bad enough, the measured ever the worst,
rare precision, seldom splendour,
yet all time is now, all place is here,
all place is now, all time is here:
deep in the forest, amid the town,
the knight upon the height.
A stray thought hurled in supersonic flight,
civilisation upon the scales: mene mene tekel ufarsin –
without legacy, speech unformed.
A silence of tin and turpentine
encircles a faint deflection
from a leaden will to strife; a blow struck,
and the outcome evil to God.
A civilisation falters,
crushed beneath Borderline-Moloch.
III
Cunning seeps in the trap of the self.
Gravity binds.
Faces ground into dust.
First is last, last is first.
All time now. All place here.
Knight on the height,
forest and city alike.
A thought breaks the sound-barrier.
Weighed, found wanting.
Silence of tin and turpentine.
A will of lead, a blow struck.
Evil unto God.
Civilisation stammers,
devoured by Borderline-Moloch.
IV
Trap of self.
Gravity’s chain.
Face in dust.
First = last.
Now = all.
Here = all.
Knight on height.
Forest / city.
Thought: supersonic.
Weighed. Wanting.
Tin. Turpentine.
Will of lead.
Blow struck.
Evil to God.
Civilisation – stammer.
Moloch.
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
Read 1001 times
Written on 2025-09-27 at 11:02
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
