Mats Kristiansson
Frozen Time

© Mats Kristiansson 1998, 2006, 2010

A collection of poems inspired by some of Folke Truedsson's sculptures
Written in Swedish May 8, 1998
Translated to English by the author 2006 and 2010

Time has its form.
Folke Truedsson, sculptor (1913–1989)

The Word:
created in the beginning
in the basis of reason:
in the origin of humankind.
The Word:
sacrificed at inhuman altars
to inhuman gods,
saved at human altars
to human gods.
The Word:
in the beginning well turned and smooth
but in time worn and harsh.
The Word:
a frozen vison
of the essence of time,
nailed at the brick wall in the Church of Adolfsberg.

Formed body,
who are you trying to shun?
The one who moulded you?
The one who wants to remould you?
Who delivered you in ancient time?
Who brought you to our time?
So many questions.
So few answers.

Space endeavour:
desire to behold eternity
and hope to fulfill this desire
but also proof of how vast eternity is.

Form constellation:
an early attempt
that in its pure simplicity has failed
or a timeless masterpiece?

Aristarkus spoke and said.
The spheres remained still.
Copernikus spoke and said.
The spheres began to move.
Others spoke and said.
With the speed of light,
the spheres drowned in darkness.

O, you safe Certainty,
find the human's hearts again.

The apparently similar
may however be opposites.

Formed body,
thus you were finally caught.
I don't know your features any longer
but merely your name.

Divided form,
who cleaft you?
Why weren't you granted wholeness,
fragment of yourself?
But do not despair:
your half is close to you.
Seek a mould,
seek a forge,
seek a smith,
seek union with yourself.

Standing semicricle,
that for eternities unfinished
is frozen in time,
who can free you
but your other half?
He is resting within yourself.
Seek him there.

Of form elements, the forms are formed.
Without these elements, formlessness would reign.

To exist is an act of balance
by the edge of the gulf of eternity.
Be watchful,
practise often,
live here and now,
suspended.

A shining sun-bird
I caught.
Water he didn't want to drink.
Seed he didn't want to eat.
In cage he didn't want to live.
But I quenched my thirst
and calmed my hunger
and could once more live
free.

In the open form,
I thought I saw
eternity.
But beyond the form was
eternity's eternity.

In eternal ringformations,
the world is spinning:
its apparent aspect
and its hidden.

In rhythmic circles,
the harmonies
you listened to sometimes
are moving.
Seek them always.
May you find them again.

Listen
to the big game
and the little one.
Listen –
or turn deaf!

Even the
in
com
pa
ti
ble
cansometimesunite.

Surrounded by form,
formless myself,
I'm formed,
with time becoming firm
and ready to leave the womb
to live free.

I put up my sail
to sail with the sun
to the sun.

Even what you thought was
finished
is perhaps not
calm
but
in motion.

The sail is gliding freely.
I have released it
to merry follow its path
with broken heart.

Surge, well,
strongly,
or else your circulation
may be broken.

Two forms
are close to each other.
They don't speak.
They only meet.

The circle's first trans
forms to the circle's second trans
forms to the circle's third
in an eternal race.

Octopus-like with no name,
your arms surrounds
your equals.
Are you of gold or flint?
I listen raptured to your harmonies
by day and in my dreams.
Are you I? I doubt it.
Speak to me, ancient child!
Let me rest in your embrace.
Are your embrace mine? I doubt it.
Appease my doubt!
Let me rest in certainty.
? !


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