Horse, Dream, Man, Helsinki 1980

 

Early morning and only street sweepers and a lone policeman are in view. The cop is Scandinavian, upright, descended from generations of straight men and women and he’s so bold he appears like a mythological extension of his horse, some god risen from an animal’s back. I don’t see well and have to draw near to find he’s a horseman and when I’m very close I hear the man talking gently, so quietly he’s like that ancient father we all long for, the horse father.

 

“My good girl,” he says, “my creeper, my softy hooved…”

“Lord,” I think, “he’s James Joyce.”

He says: “Girlie it’s a pinkpink morning.”

Says: “Experience, experience, it’s all in us.”

I’m walking home after a night of carousing. I’m 25, heartily youthful, so in love with the world my lips twitch, and in the coming years I’ll often talk to myself.

“You’re horse is beautiful,” I say, peering upward in rosy air. The horse is very tall and the man is tall and they are far above in emerging light.

 

One thought on “Horse, Dream, Man, Helsinki 1980

  1. Yes! The songs we can’t help singing to the ones who carry us. Who is the father and who is the child? Whose lullaby? That is the great mystery of horses for me.

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