The story of my life

There is this story of my life
I´m not sure what part I´m playing in it,
but I know it´s registered on me,

like the salaries, the bills, the taxes,
the passport, the ID-card, and
all of those banalities with money.

There is this story of my life,
cinematic, coloristic, dreary,
badly written dialogues.
As if real life means
badly written dialogues
and nothing fancy.

Then of course there is poetry,
and the dramas, the conflicts.
I assure myself time and again
they don´t mean that much,
they´re just part of the odd
broidery.

Then there is brooding,
and anxiety, of which I do not
fame myself, but poets do.
The Inger Christensen anxiety
is beautiful and scary.
I go there when I need to see
what I have too little of,
and of what I have a lot.

There is this dream of ones life.
In solid things to do, they suddenly
become lit up, the vase in the window,
the plate with aubergine and cheese,
the chestnut tree, the dance,
in constant windflow with
the others, the many, the few,
the one and only.

The dream.
If the one and only really existed:
That would be you.
Your life. The garden.

Honor the absence

Honor the absence                                                                                          

Målning: Caspar Wolf

do not pretend that the absent
aren´t really here.

They are here, all of them,
the boys in the band,
the singer, the drummer,
you, yourself at twenty,
the dancer, the princess.

The man you married,
all the long walks,
all the sighs at night
sinking in deep green.
The man in Denmark,
you know who I mean.

They live in the absence,
as they did when you first met,
according to Mr Lacan.

Honor the departures,
the shades of love,
the sinking sun, the rising,
the many moments
of eyes meeting eyes,
unforgettable eyes,
they still speak of something
unspeakable.

Seven Zen Under & Methan

In Seven Zen Under
there is a frosen path
that none of us will enter
who hasn´t done the math 

The Geology is broken
but the friendships are intact
you may bring back a token
from the open cratertract

In Seven Zen Under
When seven monks appear
You know that they will guard
the little monkeys there

Apart from that there´s none
and no protection left
from the magnitude disaters
that will end a World of theft 

The methan gas is flowing
it´s no human kind of flow
this is the time of sinkholes
as CH4 will grow

The seven monks are praying
their tiny clockbells ring
some hour out of eternity
that even blackbirds bring

The visitors are leaving
as strangers always do
behind them is the heaving
of another methan brew

The woodpecker

The tragical story of a woodpeckers life, in five acts.

Act one.

The woodpecker is happy with his little family.
They all love each other and spend their days
in the forest, where there is a tree for everyone
to have their pecking & picking lessons going

Act two.

The woodpecker enters the adolescent life,
with much ado about competition & beauty display.
The woodpecker stares into the pond and finds his look
both beautiful, magnificent and sometimes bleak.

Act three.

The woodpecker gets an agreement from the opposite sex,
he will be allowed to reach and penetrate her sexual organs.
This done the woodpecker feels pretty alone again, not
so much the woodpeckers "wife" as she has her eggs.

Act four.

Oh, the eggs are broken up and little chickens chirp
the woodpeckers are busy finding larvaes in the bark.
the chicks are always hungry, the sexlife is all gone
but only lady Woodpeck does sorely miss the song

Act five.

The little woodpecks growing, the family goes on
to pecking all together until next summers song
their pecking and their picking is heard all season long
this pecking-picking gift is the way their life moves on.

Song for the few

I know what I can
and I know what I must
and there´s someone in Heaven
that I can trust

Some are unlucky
and some are unjust
some dress up in armour
that forever will rust

There´s millions of people
with millions of hands
who grasp at the Wheel
and the Fortune of chance

I´m neither that greedy
nor am I that young
but I still have some songs
that need to be sung

I know what I can
and I know what I must
and there´s someone in Heaven
I totally trust

Någotsånär Nya Rader - but in English

If you can´t stand them
You can´t bless them

If you can´t run off
turn around and bless
very quickly

and all they can hear
is a sort of birdish chirp
unknown to ears

this is the unsung
song of love
that ain´t bothering
nobody

Just give them a face
conceived by wind
as if you know
from a thousand
directions
snow
dishing it out
through days and days
undaunted

snow indeed
waiting for you
and the whirl
you´re in is
a gift,
a curse,
from the unknown
The Circle

turn, turn
you´re safe
you´re leaving
with the
migrating
mig-granted

all of them
that the Government
spent 18 billions a year
to ward off

the birds
that never heard
of final solutions

and no feathers picked
by the taciturn 
for the funeral;
Oh, Brother,
wake me,
but late,
to the Gathering
of Strangers,
their
passions or purses
burnt.


--------------------------------------------------

"Synopsis" från Februari -12 i Lappland till Februari -13 i Stockholm.

(Tillfreds med femte versen. Sångbarheten är tydlig i den här texten. Den skulle bli en sång, om jag spelade gitarr. Får väl höra med piano-vännen).

The Great Grey

Walking in the Great Grey
Thinking Great Grey Thoughts
Thinking, Walking, Grey

Grey trucks, grey clouds,
greedy tricks and grim doubts
ruling distant whereabouts

Grey self, grey shoes
walking the unknown
whereabouts blues

-----------------------------------

Dagsdikt från nattskiftet.

Ibland är det roligare att
skriva på ett annat språk.