The blue house revisited

The sunlight of night is almost the same, and I watch the misty blue of your house, as it glimpses through the branches as I look at its timber impregnated with grief.

Your blue house still rides on pagodas of weed, on the weed transforming to surf, but the dragons have withered and on the ground lies the shadow of a boomerang, broken, and bending are the Upanishads of weed.

The walls have been painted again, a fourth time, just as you predicted, but the windows are empty waiting for rest, waiting for words. waiting for owners repainting with wishes, it waits for an owner who paints, without a brush, from the inside and out with blue.

It carries in itself the heart of a child, it still resembles a drawing but its lines are not bold any more, but hesitates as if crayoned with arthritis hands. It’s like it remembers a shimmer of summers but dressed in a Polaroid skin.

Inside the unrest of ceilings have settled, besmitten to peace by the walls, but the ship in painting seems tired of riding the froth of the waves, and the frame have imprisoned its wind.

But still it is early inside, as if crossroads can open again, there are echoes of footsteps and somewhere my vessel is running a parallel route, preparing for me, while somewhere beyond the sky is on fire.

Blue Bed © Yves Tanguy

Blue Bed © Yves Tanguy

Today Walt hosts dVerse Poetics and he gives us examples of summer poetry. Our challenge is to revisit a summer poem through the eyes of another poet and a poem. I did choose my own poem “The blue house by Tomas Tranströmer”, and to me this breathe Swedish summer, and the feeling of standing with one foot in the grave while being more alive than ever before, also it gave me a chance of writing prose poetry for once.

June 21, 2016

27 responses to “The blue house revisited

  1. Beautiful prose poem, captured me from beginning to end. Like writing, we need to revisit the places we’ve been — there’s wildness here, and also home — both fear and beauty. Thanks for sharing.

  2. but the ship in painting seems tired
    of riding the froth of the waves, and
    the frame have imprisoned its wind.

    There seems to be a depressing situation compounded by the inability to escape in view of obstacles. Great prose writing Bjorn!

    Hank

  3. Oh, Bjorn, this is such beautiful writing, wonderful to read, and envision. I love the description of the house, so changed and softened by age, with its empty windows……love the painter who paints without a brush from the inside out. Wow!

  4. This is an outstanding piece of prose poetry. The mood of passing summer is beautifully reflective, and the colour blue pervades throughout. I so enjoyed this reading experience.

  5. You’ve created such an intense atmosphere in this well-written prose poem, Bjorn–it makes me want to know more about the person inside that house, indeed, the person that is the house.

  6. Your prose is so evocative, yet remains very poetic, as it should. It makes me realize that unless otherwise prompted, all my poems are prose variables, running free, naked, brazen & boldly through creative portals & enchanted environs. Your style is chameleon; so cool. I love your line /it’s like it remembers a shimmer of summer but dressed like a polaroid skin/.

  7. This is very haunting and took me like a ship. Funny how house shifts to ship and blue is a word color that says so much. I like “your blue house still rides on pagodas of weed” and the image of the house surfing on weeds.

  8. Bjorn, your prose poem is like a cool breeze on prickly summer skin. Chillingly beautiful: ‘Your blue house still rides on pagodas of weed, on the weed transforming to surf’.

  9. Beautiful, Bjorn! It has a unique feel with “shimmering summers” and the pagodas in weed…..in the blue house, the heart of a child, yet settled, mature and gracious but wanting more…winsome and hopeful
    in its tone. I can see the house drawn in crayon come to life.

  10. There seems a great sadness in this to me. I wasn’t expecting that on the trail of summer poems. But I suppose it shows that summer is a different experience for us all.

  11. This begged me to read it twice, to find more, to know more…and that was enlightening with vivid images pulling me along. I feel a longing or struggle between the lines. Beautiful prose.

  12. What an exquisite prose-poem, full of breath and imagery and feeling! I love these lines, especially:
    “It carries in itself the heart of a child, it still resembles a drawing but its lines are not bold any more, but hesitates as if crayoned with arthritis hands. It’s like it remembers a shimmer of summers but dressed in a Polaroid skin.”

I try to reciprocate all comments. If you want me to visit a particular post, please direct me directly to that post.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s