Paul-Eerik Rummo Biography

TO BE A LANDSCAPE, TO BE A MAJESTIC LANDSCAPE
on the drumlin topped with firs that froth with cones;
a snow-white landscape, with veins like the wind's footsteps,
to be a landscape, a noble landscape crossed
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Or — maybe he never existed at all?!
Maybe there was only
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The world did not invade my soul, it seeped into it
it did not break into my heart, it ate into it.
It spent long wakeful nights in the corner of my room,
a radiance round its head like a halo.
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To love (I mean: to be able
to be weak and wholly wholly
indifferent, whatever comes),
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Again again again again again
As soon as I close my eyes
it happens once more
What a beekeeper once told me
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