There are so many things I should have said.
So many stories I should have told.

Cimitero
Floating like a seahorse, up and down. Then sideways. Transparent as glass.
Gjennomsiktig som glass.
My hand feels the fabric
The bubbles rise. Arms and legs. Screaming mouths. Distorted faces.

Beautiful!

Children losing their mothers.
Mothers losing their children.
solated by the seabreeze.
The black underwear turns white by air bubbles.
The lace is so beautiful. As if coated by ice.

Barn som mister sine mødre.
Mødre som mister sine barn.
Suset fra vannet isolerer meg.
Det sorte undertøyet blir hvitt av luftbobler.
Blondene blir så vakre.
Akkurat som det legger seg is på dem.

A marquise fabric moves, almost elegantly.
It moves in waves, first out then back in.
Orange colours in the turquise water.
Dead bodies.

A quiet breeze. The sound of the ocean hitting land.
I get a glimse of some children down by the seaside.
The sand is coarse. Almost black.
The children's bodies are completely black. Covered in sand.
The water gushes over them and they are cleansed.

Noen barn er nede ved vannet.
Sanden er ganske grov og nesten sort.
Barnekroppene er helt sorte. Av sand.
Vannet slår innover dem og de blir rene.

The meeting with Aldo. Up towards the belltower.
Over the bridge. And in trough the green door.
Glitter on the staircaise.

The large iron bed is in the middle of the room.
With an old stained mattreses in it.
I make the bed. To remove those who've been here before.
A crusifix on the wall.
A shelf in white wrought iron.
Some plastic flowers.
A glasscrystal filled with water.
Inside - a replica of the leaning tower in Pisa.
If you turn it upside down, it want snow;
glitter will be falling. Sentimento devino.

Den store jernsengen står midt i rommet.
Med gamle madrasser. Som er flekkete.
Jeg rer sengen. For å fjerne dem, som har vært her før.
På veggen henger et krusifiks. En hylle i hvit smijern.
Noen plastblomster. En liten glasskolbe som er fylt med vann.
Inni - en kopi av det skjeve tårn i Pisa.
Når den snues opp ned "snør" det ikke snø men glitter.

I can barely see the churchspire and the city.
I can smell the sea.

I put the jewellery in the drawer.
A flowery wax cloth fastened with red and translucent pins.
A simple gas flame, a turquise corner cabinet,
some brown espresso cups and a pitcher.
Something about the way she moves.

The boats are further down.
When you look up, you see houses clinging to the mountain.
I just switch to another reality.
The houses are tumbling down.

I'am awake. I think about turquise silk shoes,
tanned legs and summer dresses.
I found these shoes in Rome.
Elegant bathing suits. How do they keep their hair so well groomed?
Tiny shoes they put their feet in. Without sand entering between their toes.

Honking, dunking and some blue wines.
Wisteria.

Into the tunnel. Out in the daylight.
Catch a glimse of some of the houses.
Colourized lightbubbles. No sounds.
The waves burst, banging into a hole in the mountain.
The warmth tickles my arms, neeck and face.

The paint has worn itself off in a beautiful way.
The white,blue and brown tiles make beautiful mosaics.
Rectangular windows in beautiful frames. Lace curtains.

Malingen er gått av på en vakker måte.
Klinkerflisene i hvitt, blå og brun i et nydelig mosaikkmønster .

More letters arrive - from there.

Someone's talking, but it doesn't matter.
The clouds sail by so fast.
Sometimes I'm a princess.
Some shoes are made for walking.

Det var glitter på trappetrinnene i Mornington Crescent
og inne i Koko var det rødt og kongelig.
The staircase in Mornington Crescent, was covered in glitter
and the inside of Koko was royal red.

 

There's something
about the way I move.
I'm fencing with
my entire body.
Yet my arms stay in place.

Thank you for letting me know.

Sentimento Devino
Assistenten kirkegård, København

Meråker kirkegård
Bonifacio, Corsica
Piazza del Popolo, Roma
Manarola, Italy
Maratea, Italy
Charlotte street, London
Essaoira, Marocco
Solbakken, Tingvoll, Møre
Tautra Mariakloster, Trøndelag
Råkvåg, Trøndelag