The smell of a cigar constitutes the third landscape:
it drifted through the cracks of a door of an attic room.
The room belonged to a girl where
after school I sat on an unpolished
hardwood floor and I thumbed through her stacks of vinyl,
randomly picked out books
and leafed through them in search
of a phrase or word to remember.
Listening to Paul Simon, together
we watched the cars cutting through the view,
over the bridge leaving only a quiet hum,
they passed. All those years
sitting on that floor, I felt like a stranger looking at
photographs of her friends I would never meet.
Names like Toronto, Alberta, Ontario became the memory
to places she had been.
I never mapped it out completely, never traced
those valleys, never walked around
those lakes or paddled the rivers,
I never did smell the pinewood of
that forest. It was a world so vastly uninhabited,
and my only glimpse of it
was composed of nothing but photographs.
Photo by Nora Goerne
From: Walking The Horizon (2017).
In 2017, the booklet Walking The Horizon was self-published in a limited edition. It featured nine poems written specifically for a selection of photographs by Nora Goerne. Both the poems and the photography deal with themes such as distance and memory, combined with an impressionist and contemplative style. If you’re interested in buying a booklet, please get in touch.