Ir, Ir, Ir

There’s nervous energy in everything now: anxiety in the sunlight,
anxiety in the stars, anxiety in the earth, anxiety
in the grass, the hornet’s nest, tension in both men and women, friction
in cars, planes and wires,
a charge in the stove,
the coffeepot, the cat –
jolt, jolt, jolt,
there’s current in everything one touches,
Olai claims.
That’s why he stands in rubber boots,
digging himself down
to the blue clay, the cold water.

Olav H. Hauge: “Ir”, from Spør Vinden [Ask the Wind], 1971 (Noregs Boklag, Oslo), translated by Olav Grinde.