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…