By Benny Andersen
There in the freezing morning
hangs a sound that soon will thaw.
The quiet is almost ripe,
opening like a seed.
In this air there are colors
your eye cannot see.
They wait like depths in the expanse
over the blind snow.
Quiet. Don’t speak yet.
Don’t start anything.
One more drop of silence
and the air will be full of song.
By Benny Andersen ©1960 “Lige før forår”
Translated by Michael Goldman
This poem was published in The International Poetry Review in 2013
