Edith Södergran: Poems
I am a stranger in this country
that lies deep beneath the grasping sea,
the sun looks down here with curving rays
and the air flows between my hands.
I was told that I was born imprisoned –
that I would recognize no face here.
Was I a rock someone had thrown down to the bottom?
Was I a fruit too heavy for its branch?
Here I stalk at the foot of the whispering tree,
how shall I climb the smooth trunks?
Up there the swaying branches meet,
there I will sit and watch for
the smoke of my homeland’s chimneys…