Jouni Inkala (b. 1966) is writer living in Helsinki. He has published six collections of poems, the latest of which, Kirjoittamaton (Unwritten), appeared in 2002.
Bright water beads glint in the spiderweb
on the clothesline, this calm morning after a storm.
It is quiet.
Sun spider leaps to the languid center,
devours its night-moist catch.
Until it is noon and nothing else happens.
The blackcurrant bushes had raged in the dark wind
obscenely undulant with too many sleepers.
In memory, they still beget descendants,
born years ago when the ground was cold
and the breakfast meatballs at camp
resembled hairballs puked up by an owl.
Bird hysterics demanding a new
then time, as a squirrel, burst across the lawn –
these prove that something definitely exists
and has a voice that smells of me,From Tässä sen reuna (The edge here), 1992. Translated by Anselm Hollo.
and looks exposed, and the same color as I.
- Bright water beads
- Behind the window
- Deep gouges in the middle of the…
- Then you started explaining again
- I can not sleep even though I…
- The weight of November’s damp fog
- This afternoon, I cut my finger
- The next psalm after the last
- Confession in wedding garb