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Det tætteste på et engelsk Hvedekorn jeg kunne finde

i Londons boghandlere var et ½glossy magasin ved navn Poetry London, med, så vidt jeg kan læse, mange kedelige digte og anmeldelser, men goså dette gode, klare og mystisk digt af amerikaneren David Lehman, som jeg godt kender (som antologiredaktør og forfattere til en bog om New York-skolen):

Ghost Story

You could see it in their faces:
the foreknowledge of their absence,
rare in anyone but almost unknown in a child.

Unlike us they sense it from the start. They knew
that people, when they die, stay where they are,
only now they’re invisible as a star
in daylight, forbidden to act but free to comment,
for no one will hear them now, except us, who
in our weaker moments think of ourselves
as ghosts, the casualties of calamities
that happened before we were born.

All this was clear now, a couple of decades after
the fact, and the job had fringe benefits, too,
though the people in personnel couldn’t tell you what
they were: only you knew the secret, and you had sworn
to keep it to yourself. None of them suspected it,
not even the shyster who agreed to take your case,
to whom you tried to explain the paradox of freedom:

like a wish granted by a capricious genie, it is
predicated on the condition that you never use it,
never exercise it in defiance of the authorities.
And that is why you see us here, like Marius
contemplating the ruins of Carthage,
among the monuments that incite the poor to vandalism
though like us they’re invisible to the naked eye.

And the children who believed in us is gone

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Forside og billedkunst i Hvedekorn 4 2018: Kirsten Justesen. Hvedekorn er støttet af Statens Kunstfond hvedekorn.dk af One Million Monkeys