This poem origins from the beach, the Blues and the memory
of a dance.
Written and performed at the Herräng Cabaret on Thursday week 30 1997.
Sitting here listening to the birds singing for me, just for me. I hear the waves breaking against the shore, the wind among the leaves. The thoughts are whirling, I only wish they would be full of joy and harmony, like a dance, but sadly enough they are out of beat and full of kicks and bruises.
Trying to avoid the thoughts, enters a dreamstate and just listens, listens to the mosquito seeking its prey, listens to the heartbeat, catches the rythm. I hear the rythm of my own thoughts, in my mind I dance steps to fit the passing car, the childs laughter, the slamming door and the birds solo.
Thinking about the first dance with you, it was like the hand entering the glove, the icecube meeting Sahara, like electric charges we were drawn togehter, like magnetes we couldn't be separated.
The first hesitant steps were transformed into a series of movements
where thought and life experiences were exchanged, step-by-step we grew
The steps started to flow like a river. The flow makes a sequence of steps, a sequence of notes, a sequence of movements and thoughts to a sequence of joy, pure joy.
The feet are no longer bound by gravity but flow over the floor, it is no longer a matter of two persons dancing, not even a pair of dancers but like one person with four feet, two has become one.
The sorrows decline with each and every step, the smile becomes permanent and the tear drops dry away, life is simple and the feet are happy.
Again the drill of the bird catches my attention, the feet are now still but in my mind I still dance.
I dance alone, you are no longer here, like morning mist you are now gone, I didn't even notice when, wonder what happened?
I can still hear the bird, but now so weak, so distant, so distant.
Maybe it now only exists in my fantasy?
I stare at my hand,
the feeling of You still burning in the palm,
trying to grasp that feeling,
but catches only nothingness - not even a bird.
Clas Tegenfeldt, Summer 1997