Detta är en översättning till engelska av dikten ”Pockande röster”.
Översättningen har gjorts av Kerstins bror Sören.
they are calling for you
piercing screams
seep into the slightly open window
a light summer breeze
brushes against the beige
hospital curtain
so stiff
that not a crease comes alive.
Many hours
have passed,
since your fever hot hand
squeezed back,
but still you are here
to some degree.
I’m holding tightly.
The ticking of the wall clock
is echoing in the bare room
with yellowy walls,
measuring the time
you have left.
I could swear
that the seconds are stopping to a halt
each time your breathing ceases.
My gaze is fixed on your chest
— there — a minimal heaving —
one breath
provides respite
before it ends.
The swallows are calling
they are calling for you
with insistent voices
“Fly freely with us
under the blue sky.
Feel your wings grow.
Let the air carry you
in a swallow’s flight
fast as an arrow.
Come, come, come!”
The swallows are calling.
They are calling for you.
You are listening.
Saying goodbye.
And leaving us.
Outside, a hare is crouching.
The vigil is over.
© Kerstin Löthman 2009
Översättning till engelska av Sören Blom 2014