The Little Identityless Vagabonds of Identity
this farm
this night
this rain
the garden
the barn
the stable
the run-in shed
the garage
the woodshed
the old greenhouse
the new greenhouse
the carriage shed
the Li Po Hut
the little identityless vagabonds of identity:
the pen holder, the pens,
the colorful German pencil sharpeners,
the Moomin mug with the birchwood toothpicks,
the exercise / notebook,
the plastic medicine box,
the weekly pill organizer, the Novalucol blister pack,
the little lightly adhesive reading tabs, line-precise,
and a small selection of books
from a large selection of books:
Helen Macdonald: H Is for Hawk
(ISBN 978-0-8021-2473-9)
David Hinton: Classical Chinese Poetry
(ISBN 978-0-374-53190-4)
Gaston Bachelard: The Poetics of Space
(ISBN 978-0-8070-6473-3)
The Moderns, an anthology of new writing
in America
(Library of Congress Catalog Card No. 63-11408)
Ingvar Helge Nordin: RESON, second stage;
direct-acting text
(ISBN 978-91-90072-05-9)
Saigyō: Mirror for the Moon
(ISBN 0-8112-0698-x)
Rumi: The Big Red Book
(ISBN 978-0-06-190583-4)
Walt Whitman: The Complete Poems
(ISBN 978-0-140-42451-5)
Jorge Luis Borges: The Book of Sand
and Shakespeare's Memory
(ISBN 978-0-14-118382-4)
Li Po and Tu Fu: Poems
(ISBN 978-0-140-44272-4)
Erik Rosenberg: Fåglar i Sverige
(ISBN 91-20-05053-4)
when I read
how Helen Macdonald paced the Scottish quay
waiting to receive a goshawk
from a stranger on the ferry from Belfast,
I get the same feeling I had
when I was waiting for Petr Kotik's
and the S.E.M. Ensemble's LP box Many Many Women,
with texts by Gertrude Stein,
sent directly by Kotik himself from New York;
that eerie, tingling sensation
of needing something
that no one I knew would ever need,
which also held a kind of pride
and a sense of separateness and superiority
toward ordinary people,
reminiscent of when, at grammar school in 1963,
I traded away a pointless Shadows LP
for Buddy Holly's posthumous LP Reminiscing,
which is still spinning, 63 years later
Anna
Silver & Cesi
Moses, Russin, Torre
Dante, the goshawk
this night
the forest
the river
this body; overdrawn
this life; trimmed, spare, improvised
this writing pad
this pen
this night
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
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Written on 2026-08-20 at 11:35
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