Suites for Solo Cello (III)
Propped in the dawn bed,
knees drawn,
the gate of the Iliad closed in my skull –
the house a drone,
the world sufficient,
and Pablo Casals’ violoncello
speaking stringent
out of its abyss
A concert hall without witnesses.
All seats awaiting.
All thought
held in the Suites –
driving storm-towers
in from the August sea,
setting the auroras in motion
over midwinter’s sky,
as blood ascends,
cardiovascular,
through uprisings
and appropriations
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
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Written on 2026-03-18 at 14:52
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