Per Ahlmark & Kuan Yin
I build my life
in airy structures,
with a dowsing rod
through metre & geometry;
Alan Turing’s fragile formulas across the night sky,
whispers from stormwater drains
& transparent conduits in the human tide;
names that age has made magical, iconic,
legendary:
people who suddenly stand outside weather systems,
defoliations & remunerations,
without sentiment or body along curry lines,
in ship-settings,
with surnames drooling in the feral faces of memory
in the labyrinth’s straying out on Lindbacke:
a raw nothing
that has outwitted being
and left scrape marks in the asphalt,
as after great forestry machines
– but one of the smuggled-away surfaced on TV,
and I flung off three orders
to Bokbörsen:
VISUM – FLIGHTS – SURVIVAL:
Per Ahlmark
Today the sun shines on my lists, my cunning;
on my pleasures, my losses
– and what I have hidden rumbles
I live intensely, invasively,
at arm’s length;
crossing between decisions
like a blind fish in a deep-sea trench;
I take it for the way things are
Outstretched like a medieval wooden cross,
on my back in the architecture with ninety-degree arms,
I try to register air pressure & gravity
Languages surge
at the bottom of contemporaneity
The body still holds a trace of currency
when I call upon Kuan Yin,
and ancient mountain massifs slide apart
in the wind
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
Written on 2026-03-19 at 10:52
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