Never from flowers

· by · in dVerse, golden shovel, poetry. ·

From Pablo Neruda Sonnet 17 (second stanza)

You are not a mirror where reflected, I,
can affirm myself. You are not a watercolored love
or honeysuckled dusk, never soft as dew; but you
are oaken-rooted, self-cathedraled, but as
air-balloons your being brim-fill me with the
honesty of night, with promises of tea-plant
fragrance picked by young Darjeeling girls, and that
secrecy of the morning hale that never
fell. You are not the melody of blooms,

and neither stem from muslin nor from silk but
from the strength of leather; from a breath that carries
craving, decisive roads for me to trace. Since in
your voice there is a bell that in itself
is a hulking lighthouse; you are like the
velvetest of nights when you can follow light,
rhythmic flashes, heartbeats in the brightness of
above, your clouded brow the thunder barely hidden
therefore so much more than flowers.

You are the grace of autumn winds and thanks
to you I sleep-walk very close to
crevasses of ambiguity, and filled with your
never-promised gaze, I mimic in an almost love
the trapeze artist that clings to ropes in a
manic tension at the sullen face of certain
death, and as a fall before she meet the solid
ground you are the heat of kilns, a fragrance

from the leaves of nightshade darkly risen,
a graveyard of concussions, yet from
you I’m veined; you are my warmth at night, the
reason that I barefoot walk on barren earth
you are a purpose, a parasite that lives,
consumes me, burning cold and darkly
we together are the embers of each other, destroyers in
possessions and in a break of vows my
hands are wailing for conclusion in your body.

Today it is Open Link at dVerse with a live session on Saturday hosted by Sannaa. I missed the Golden Shovel last Thursday. When I checked what I wrote last time we had that I decided to do some minor tweaking to my poem from then and repost it under a new name. Enjoy.

May 7, 2026

22 responses to “Never from flowers”

  1. My goodness … this is breathtaking, Bjorn! I especially love; “your clouded brow the thunder barely hidden therefore so much more than flowers.” ❤️❤️

  3. Ambitious stuff here, writing the English translation of your Swedish sentiment for Chilean heart (did you read the original in Spanish or English?) I’m dizzy, can barely climb to rungs of my own birth tongue. Some great leaps with lines like .” .. a fragrance / from the leaves of nightshade darkly risen, / a graveyard of concussions, yet from
    you I’m veined…” Whew, attaboy.

  5. I love the almost breathless feeling your verses evoke, a sense of urgency in its rushed hyphenation of words. I also love the sounds in so many of the lines… such as: “Since in your voice / there is a bell that in itself / is a hulking lighthouse;”Beautiful work, Björn!

  6. This was a good poem this part here especially: “I sleep-walk very close to crevasses of ambiguity, and filled with your never-promised gaze, I mimic in an almost love the trapeze artist that clings to ropes in amanic tension at the sullen face of certain death”, I can’t even put into words what it did to me while reading it,

    I may have gasped.

  7. It’s interesting what happens when we revisit old poems and you’ve done a great job on this one, minor tweaking or otherwise, Björn. I love all the enjambment, the direct address and beautiful imagery in this golden shovel. I especially love:  ‘You are not a watercolored love or honeysuckled dusk’’; ‘in your voice there is a bell that in itself is a hulking lighthouse’;  and the ‘trapeze artist that clings to ropes in a manic tension at the sullen face of certain death’.

  8. Very well written, Bjorn. That was a long one to shovel up!!

    I liked the ending lines of… both being embers… and hands wailing for conclusion…

  9. Great write Bjorn, took my breath away trying to follow the sequence. Lots of ideas coming back in when ‘tweaking’ an old poem!

    Hank

  10. Wow! So much to love here, Björn. I can’t even quote it all. Love all the kennings, especially, “self-cathedraled”!!! Just wonderful.

    And these lines are so captivating:

    “You are the grace of autumn winds and thanks
    to you I sleep-walk very close to
    crevasses of ambiguity”

    I mean, it’s all captivating 🙌🏽

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