#sonnevi

[fiktioner]

2017:52

[savethelinoleum]

I said to you, I am not human And you looked at me and said, no perhaps you are not Then I began to vanish dissolving from within until not even my shell remained Not even my skin, the human shell And you touched me as if I did not exist And inside, inside me was night streaming, streaming night whirling and starless Not a single human star When I touched you with my fingers of night you, too, dissolved you were water between my fingers.

from MOZART’S THIRD BRAIN by Göran Sonnevi

[theshatterednotes]

Nästan ingenting - Varsamhet. Dess klang. Också frågor är möjliga.

"Bottenläge" från Outfört av Göran Sonnevi, 1961

[theshatterednotes]

Som i ett klart vatten stenen sjunker allt djupare Här kan jag fråga vilket vatten? vilken sten? och här i upplösningen, försvinnandet.   Kvar står klarheten, sjunkandet, djupet.

"Tydlighet" från Outfört av Göran Sonnevi, 1961

[theshatterednotes]

Göran Sonnevi

[savethelinoleum]

As the twentieth century fades out the nineteenth begins again it is as if nothing happened though those who lived it thought that everything was happening enough to name a world for & a time to hold it in your hand unlimited the last delusion like the perfect mask of death

Göran Sonnevi, Mozart's Third Brain

[savethelinoleum]

READING SONNEVI ON A TUESDAY NIGHT

A film of mist clings to the storm windows as the thunder gets pocketed and carried away in the rain’s dark overcoat.  A good reading night— car wheels amplified by the flooded street, leaf-clogged gutters bailing steadily, constant motion beyond my walls echoing my body’s gyroscopic stillness.  Sonnevi says Only if I touch do I dare let myself be touched, and that familiar and somewhat terrifying curtain of reading slips around me, pinning sound to the room’s lost corners, pinning the room to an emptying sky.  I’m in the glacial grooves of Sonnevi’s words as he makes love and listens to Mozart in a spare apartment, now reawakens to her voice saying goodnight so much that I couldn’t sleep I was elated His world slips through the waterfall of language and hovers here, on the other side, in my apartment, where we listened to Monk showering with the door open, soft-boiled eggs by the pink light of the Chinese take-out, made love against the footsteps of morning commuters, smoked cigarettes on the fire escape right up to the minute you left.  Here, we are in this continuousness— our lives dissolved in the channels of written lines— every word I’ve read was in me before I read it. They’re pulled from me like seconds from the cistern of an unfinished life.  Love’s endless weathering moves the body of our words: we read to understand we’re not alone in it— we carry one another, assuredly—                   though we do this alone.

Wayne Miller

[theshatterednotes]

I det som är mellan oss som är vår kärlek finns inga kontroller

Göran Sonnevi