The trees of my childhood

Edith Södergran: The Land Which Is Not

The trees of my childhood stand tall in the grass

and shake their heads: what’s become of you?

Rows of columns stand as reproaches: unworthy you walk beneath us!

You’re a child and should be able to do everything,

why are you chained in the bond of disease?

You have become human, a stranger and detested.

When you were a child you led long conversations with us,

your gaze was wise.

Now we will tell you the secret of your life:

the key to all secrets lie in the grass at the raspberry hill.

We shall slap your brow, sleeping one,

we will wake you, dead one, from your slumber.