My Tree

It's the cedar—the mother of lingonberry—that is my tree.
It doesn't need summer—rain and snow are enough.

Its top is high and ragged, no one hears its sounds.
It has a tough, long root that it sinks into gravel.

Over its shoulder is wind, over its hair, clouds.
Storms don't bring it down.  It may kneel.  But it stays there.

Maybe it has some destination in mind—the white bed of crowfoot flowers
At the end of the world where the glaciers rule.

Among all the trees on earth it is nearest to the great snows,
To the blind sun of the glacier.  I want to be a tree like that.

Rolf Jacobsen is a Norwegian poet who earned international recognition and is regarded as one of Europe's great poets.  His work has been translated into twenty languages.  "My Tree" is taken from The Roads Have Come to an End Now: Selected and Last poems of Rolf Jacobsen translated by Robert Bly, Roger Greenwald and Robert Hedin and published by Copper Canyon Press.

Click here to read more poems by Rolf Jacobsen.

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