CONTENTS
- Title Page
- Acknowledgements
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- FROM THE SAME SEA IN US ALL (1985)
- Sails come sailing out
- Our shadows are very long
- Only to go along
- You, you moon
- White clover asks nothing
- Who has who has ever
- O distant sun
- If you want to go
- Every dying man
- They are standing up to their knees in blood and mud
- Everything is inside out, everything is different
- Sleep covers us too much for one, too little for two
- Non-being pervades everything and being is full of peace
- No one can put me back together again
- And when the sea retreats from here
- Night comes and extinguishes the numbers
- Once more spring pulls young leaves from buds
- Light / reminds us
- Oven / alone
- What woke us
- Night and earth
- To be / Icarus
- Honeybees
- You / light-footed moss
- Near / nearest
- The same / sea
- Big black hedgehog
- A flying fish
- Ant trail
- Summer’s / last evening
- So light / after all
- Heart / of rain
- Ashes / of one world
- Painting / a boat
- The late well-master
- With a broken wing
- Everything melts
- A tit / upside down
- Ink not yet / dried
- Wiping away / dust
- Swarms of daws
- All in one
- The white vase
- Little by little / our dirty river
- Little by little / a poem fades
- An understanding
- I am both / spider and fly
- Dana paramita
- There is nothing / between us
- To wake / in the dead of night
-
- FROM THE WANDERING BORDER (1987)
- The East-West border is always wandering
- The washing never gets done
- We started home, my son and I
- My little daughter
- To write more
- On the other side of the window
- There is no Good
- Four-and-a-half tons of Silesian coal
- Once while carrying coal ash
- People were coming from the market
- Sometimes I see so clearly the openness of things
- It gets cold in the evening
- A piebald cat
- The early autumn, a faded aquarelle
- The crop is reaped
- Poetry is verdant
- Silence of night
- We always live our childhood again
- Dialectics is a dialogue
- Destruktivität is das Ergebnis ungelebten Lebens
- Elder trees that thrushes have sown
- Once I got a postcard from the Fiji Islands
- Potatoes are dug, ash trees yellow
-
- FROM THROUGH THE FOREST (1991/1996)
- There is so little that remains
- To eat a pie and to have it
- Lines do not perhaps exist
- As the night begins, a forked birch captures
- I begin to wash my son’s shirt
- Think back to the vanished day
- Once, at a meeting, I was asked
- Death does not come from outside
- The wind does not blow
- You step into the morning
- The ticking of the clock fills the room
- A flock of jackdaws on the outskirts of the town
- I do not write, do not make poetry
- I never weary of looking at leafless trees
- The most disconsolate of landscapes
- Silence. Dust
- The Forest Floor
- Dust. I Myself
- To fight for the rights and freedoms of the body
- This autumn’s great big yellow chrysanthemum
- Birch tops like brushes
- The beginning of the year is like a white sheet of paper
- Politics and politicians are gradually becoming streamlined
- I ended up in literature
- I came from the town
- Autumn comes closer
- I come up from the cellar
- A bird in the air
- In the room, a moth flies from east to west
- In the ventilation grating lives a tit
-
- FROM EVENING BRINGS EVERYTHING BACK (1984/2004)
- The snow’s melting
- Through the cellar ceiling
- White paper and time
- For many years, always in March
- It’s easy to say what’s become of the snow
- I was coming from Tähtvere
- Once again I think about what I’ve read
- I don’t feel at home in this synthetic world
- Spring has indeed come
- The morning began with sunshine
- I could say: I got out of the bus
- Running for milk I saw wood sorrel in bloom
- I write a poem every day
- We walked the road to Kvissental
- My aunt knew them well
- The sky’s overcast
- Silence is always here and everywhere
- The other life begins in the evening
- I don’t want to write courtly poetry any more
- Only at dusk do eyes really begin to see
- A last cloud moves across the sky
- The rain stops
- There are so many insects this summer
- There are as many worlds as grains of sand
- It makes little sense to talk about the subconscious
- There is no God
- The world doesn’t consist of matter or spirit
- Late summer: a faded old watercolour
- The full moon south-east above Piigaste forest
- I told the students about the beginning of Greek culture
- From stalks and curls of pine-bark
-
- FROM SUMMERS AND SPRINGS (1995/2004)
- In the morning I was presented to President Mitterand
- The radio’s talking about the Tiananmen bloodbath
- The sea doesn’t want to make waves
- God has left us
- The possibility of rain
- A fit body doesn’t exist
- The age-old dream of mankind
- One day you will do everything for the last time
- Evening’s coming
- It’s raining again
- The centre of the world is here
- My poems often aren’t poems
- Less and less space for flying
- More and more empty words
- I saw something white far away
- The weather changed overnight
- My eyesight’s weakening
- The world is a single event
- I opened the Russian-Chinese dictionary
- I’ve thought that I thought about death
- I don’t have a land or a sky of my own
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- THE SOUL RETURNING (1973-75)
- The Soul Returning
-
- POEMS WRITTEN IN ENGLISH
- I remember it well
- Fatherland / homeland
- I feel sorry for you white paper
- A lullaby that never ends
- After many bitterly cold days
- God is smile
- Something stirring
- Karl Barth, Paul Tillich, Karl Rahner
- Coming home
- Om svabhavasuddhah sarva dharmah
- Wild geese flying overhead
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- About the Author
- Copyright