Fog and mist cover the ground.
Fog and mist my thoughts surround.
Every image enveloped in fog.
And night and day a bad dream,
A nightmare drowned in a fog.
My thoughts mere woolgathering.
…………………………………
The prick of a needle in my arm.
In my reverie I feel some pain.
The doctor’s voice like a mill
Slowly grinding dried coffee beans.
–A boxwood sprinkler, a white surplice.
In a trembling band a candlestick,
A wax-candlestick flickers,
A strange light within the mist.
–Women friends with heads bent low
Praying quietly and in sorrow.
Words are soft, heads dark.
And my ears are throbbing,
Or is it a strong wind bowling?
The fire singing in the hearth
………………………………
How long did my reverie persist?
Whatever day of the week is it?
………………………………
One daybreak the rooster sings!
One morning the churchbell rings.
In the doorway there’s some barking.
Now the fog’s departing.
Bit by bit the mist’s recalled.
A ray of gold strikes the wall.
……………………………….
There the sun suddenly breaks forth.
I’ve returned from the Land of Fog.
April 1964
(2) Written after her recovery from a nearly fatal illness.
Translated by Lenora Timm
