Andra dagens dikter var av så blandad karaktär att de utgjorde sju irreguljära biflöden till den tänkta temafloden. Det fanns en dikt med livsfunderingar, en annan använde sig av vardagshumor medan en tredje närmade sig satiren. Ingen språklig fullträff bland dem, men jag gav 3 språkpoäng åt Norman MacCaig, Lag Edinburgh, för hans nostalgiska och naturromantiska skildring av platserna där han vuxit upp.
Kan ni se dem framför er? De sju utsträckta katterna som ligger över kullarna. Det var ju faktiskt så han beskrev landskapet som slingrar sig längs floden Forths mynning.
Jag har tidigare skrivit om taffliga "f" som kan få texten att "haka upp" sig. Men i tungvrickaruttrycket "Firth of Forth" (så kallas floden Forths mynning) får de inledande raderna en frän refräng.
From the corner of Scotland I know so well
I see Edinburgh sprawling like seven cats
on its seven hills beside the Firth of Forth.
Flest poäng tilldelades svenska Marie Silkeberg, Lag Öresund, för utdraget som var hämtat ur diktsamlingen "Till Damaskus". Det förde upp Lag Öresund jämsides med Barbados i poängställningen.
Score Heat 6:
| Team | Content | Language | Day 2 | Total |
| Öresund (Köpenhamn+Malmö) | 7 | 1 | 8 | 15 |
| Barbados | 3 | 1 | 4 | 15 |
| Nya Zeeland | 6 | 0 | 6 | 13 |
| Edinburgh | 2 | 3 | 5 | 12 |
| Utah | 5 | 1 | 6 | 9 |
| Montreal | 4 | 1 | 5 | 9 |
| Oberösterreich | 1 | 1 | 2 | 3 |
***
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| Malmö stads "Grip" |
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| Independence Square Barbados |
Vatten är temat för tredje dagens rond.
*
ÖRESUND : ur Palmsöndag [Dikter från Amager] / Klaus Rifbjerg
Grinden gick upp
och där fanns regnet och asfalten.
På den tiden regnade det
förutsättningslöst och levande. Det var vår.
Vattentornet står vid vägens slut
i siktet mellan två parallella förstadsdiken.
Hjärnfotograferande
faller regnet jämnt och stadigt,
registrerar de lysande protonbanorna
i vildkörvelns blommor.
Skuldran på bomullsrocken
färgas mörk av vattnet,
en tyngd sätter sig omärkligt
i skärmmössan av tweed.
*
OBERÖSTERREICH : from Discussion of Venus (Pour Hölderlin XII) / Robert Schindel
Summery calm the ocean in the creek
I am nothing, but underclouds
Are swallowing the evening star. The morning
Light derails in the eyelash wreaths
Of so many dream digesters
Friends around me
The friends set out
The north slope in front the meadow
The creek crosswise, but I am
No more there
Than I ever did tear
The upper clouds in the water
Ever the ocean, longitudinal
In a single tear of mine.
*
NYA ZEELAND : from On the death of my grandmother / Glenn Colquhoun
His eyes were made of two round shells.
His lips were the stick from an ice-block.
The tide eyed him like a seagull stalking bread.
He was both alive and dead at the same time.
The first wave touched his arm then
ran to see what he would do next.
The second pulled a finger
but again he did not stir.
The third wave ran between his legs as though
he was an old man pissing himself.
The fourth circled him, taking a layer
of sand equally from his right and
from his left so that he remained the same
shape as before but somehow smaller.
*
EDINBURGH : Poem / Kathleen Jamie
I walk at the land's edge,
turning in my mind
a private predicament.
Today the sea is indigo.
Thirty years an adult –
same mind, same
ridiculous quandaries –
but every time the sea
appears differently: today
a tumultuous dream,
flinging its waves ashore –
*
BARBADOS : from Limestone – An Epic Poem of Barbados / Anthony Kellman
She sees the pines surround the islands.
Water land. Two bluebirds dip by
Echo Lake, then onward soaring fly.
Faith stretches until her eye lands
on a wooden house, its black roof
humped dark on green rolling hills
where dogwoods foam with joy. She feels,
she knows, one day she’ll own one, proof
that heart’s wholeness lies in homestead,
the sense of landscape’s rightness here,
right now.
*
UTAH : Salamander / Lance Larsen
If I lifted you in my palm, like a compass,
carried you in my mouth, the way
our first parents did, would your poisons sweeten
my desire, could I slide through backyard
pools, like water before it was water?
*
MONTREAL : The Grammar of the dog / Erin Mouré
I have a little dog of water
It is just a little peg
my dog of water
Do you see it
so worn down across the field
nosing low in the bended grasses?
It is my dog of water.
Each leaf of grass dips a scarf into its passing.
Even the grass today is running.
Even the grass today touches the dog of water.
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