Sunday 30 June 2013

Noah's 127th egg (flow tv) / Noahs 127nde æg (flow tv)

they scream

                     every now and then my TV offers
                     to turn itself off. It gives me 60 seconds
                     to make a decision. 60 seconds! it has
                     taken 50 years to even build up the resolve
                     to face that choice is a part of life.

                     I prefer flowing along like a leaf on the wind.

as they return

                     I have to press a button to cancel the
                     automatic shut-down, and even if there's
                     nothing really worth watching I usually press it
                     and it keeps on showing me whatever
                     it shows me. This is going with the flow, I think,
                     and remind myself that the new word for
                     old-fashioned broadcasting is flow TV.

the swallows

                     Western gale
                     I change a paper hat
                     to a boat


¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤||¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤


de skriger

                    fra tid til anden tilbyder mit tv mig
                    at slukke for sig selv. Det giver mig
                    60 sekunder at træffe en beslutning i.
                    60 sekunder! Det har taget mig 50 år
                    at opbygge modet til at at erkende, at
                    valg er en del af livet.

                    Jeg foretrækker at flyde med som et
                    blad for vinden.

når de vender
tilbage

                    Jeg skal trykke på en knap for at afbryde
                    den automatiske nedlukning, og selvom der
                    ikke er noget, der er værd at se på plejer jeg,
                    at trykke på den, og det fortsætter med at
                    vise mig, hvad det nu viser mig. Det her er
                    at flyde med strømmen, tænker jeg og minder
                    mig selv om, at det nye ord for gammeldags
                    tv er flow tv.

svalerne

                    kuling fra vest
                    jeg laver en papirhat
                    om til en båd

Tuesday 25 June 2013

Noah's 126th egg / Noahs 126nde æg

if we're not

                       in a half-dream my 4 year old granddaughter
                       throws eyeballs the size of watermelons at me.
                       I can see in her face that she's as surprised as
                       I am. They were soft balls when she threw them
                       but they changed in mid air. We agree that I
                       should change dream-track. This one isn't funny.
                       She says she'll step into one of her mother's dreams.
                       Sounds good, I say. See you.

nature

                       then I'm awoken by a stonemason fitting cobblestones
                       into one another. The sound of metal hammering
                       against stone silences even the eager blackbird in the
                       solitary tree by the church.
                       I don't know what kind of tree it is.

what
r
we

                      summer cold
                      for a while the world
                      is made of Kleenex







hvis vi ikke

                     i en halvdrøm kaster mit 4-årige barnebarn
                     øjenæbler på størrelse med vandmeloner
                     efter mig. Jeg kan se på hendes ansigtsudtryk,
                     at hun er lige så overrasket, som jeg er. De
                     var bløde bolde, da hun kastede dem, men
                     de forandrede sig undervejs. Vi bliver enige om,
                     at jeg skal skifte drømmespor. Det her er ikke
                     morsomt. Hun siger, at hun vil gå ind i én af sin
                     mors drømme.
                     Det lyder som en god ide, siger jeg. Vi ses.

er natur

                     derefter bliver jeg vækket af en stenhugger, der
                     tilpasser brosten. Lyden af metal, der hamrer mod
                     sten, får selv den ihærdige solsort i det enlige træ
                     ved kirken til at tie stille.
                     Jeg aner ikke, hvilken slags træ det er.

hvad
r
vi

                     sommerforkølelse
                     for en tid er verden
                     lavet af Kleenex

Monday 24 June 2013

Noah's 125th egg / Noahs 125nde æg

midsummer

                      his eyes and faces
                      hands and legs
                      are everywhere

and still
the clouds

                      and he hears
                      a room

are white

                      buzzing in a mosquito







midsommer

                     hans øjne og ansigter
                     hænder og ben
                     er overalt

og skyerne
er stadig

                     og han hører
                     et værelse

hvide

                     summe i en myg







Everywhere are His hands and legs, His eyes and faces, and He hears everything. In this way the Supersoul exists.
Bhagavad Gita, Chapter - 13, Text 14Chapter - 13, Text 14

Tuesday 18 June 2013

Noah's 123rd fundamentalist egg / Noahs 123nde fundamentalistiske æg

Fundamentalist



throwing
planks

                     he said he was glad he was a
                     fundamentalist. I knew what
                     he meant, but I suggested he
                     was merely moving from one
                     prison to another. by converting.
                     The prison really being himself.
                     He just changed the framework, the
                     ism, to justify his lacking social
                     skills, his low self-esteem and
                     his awkwardness around women.
                     He got off the train by the first
                     station after that.

                     I can be very unkind.

unscaffolding

                     the following Sunday he was
                     back in church on the same
                     spot licking up every word
                     the priest spoke, mimicking
                     his movements, his facial expressions,
                     trying to use Greek and Russian
                     terms for things that could be said in
                     his native Danish tongue.

the scaffold

                     silent bird
                     this lead hat comes
                     with matching boots





smider
brædder

                     hans sagde, at han var glad for
                     at være fundamentalist. Jeg ved,
                     hvad han mener, men jeg antyder,
                     at han blot flyttede fra et fængsel
                     til et andet ved at konvertere.
                     Fængslet er i virkeligheden ham selv.
                     Han skiftede blot rammerne ud, ismen,
                     for at retfærdiggøre sine manglende
                     sociale færdigheder, sit lave selvværd,
                     hans kejtethed med hensyn til kvinder.
                     Han stod af toget ved den første station
                     efter det.

                     Jeg kan være ret ubehagelig.

afstilladserer

                     søndagen efter var han tilbage
                     i kirken på den samme plads. Han
                     labbede præstens ord i sig og efterlignede
                     hans bevægelser, hans ansigtsudtryk.
                     Han afprøvede de græske og russiske
                     termer for ting, han sagtens kunne siges
                     på sit danske modersmål.

stilladset

                     stille fugl
                     denne blyhat kommer
                     med matchende støvler

Monday 17 June 2013

Noah's 122nd enlightened egg / Noah's 122nde oplyste æg


as is well

                          ”well, maybe in another life”

the swallows
do what they can

                           ”sorry, pal, I don't think
                             I need to reincarnate”

to repair
the sky's
weave

                             sultry heat
                             we share an ice-tea
                             on Buddha Bar





alt er godt

                           ”mh, måske i et andet liv”

svalerne gør
hvad de kan

                          ”undskyld, kammerat, jeg tror ikke
                            jeg behøver at reinkarnere”

for at reparere
himlens
vævning

                           lummerhede
                           vi deler en iste
                           på Buddha Bar




Sunday 16 June 2013

Noah's 121st egg / Noahs 121nde æg

”Then I'll be
your Mr. Perkins”

                            crossing the ceiling

”Who is Mr. Perkins?”

                            the spider avoids

and then
the movie
ends

                            the crushed spider







”Så vil jeg være
din Mr. Perkins”

                           krydser loftet

”Hvem er Mr. Perkins?”

                           edderkoppen undgår

og så
slutter
filmen

                           den maste
                           edderkop

Thursday 13 June 2013

Noah's 120th egg / Noahs 120nde æg

vocalizing

                      ”Hey man, you lost your wings”

the raven
sounds
like

                      ”Not really, had to sell them.
                       An angel's gotta eat.”

the rising
sun

                       lemon butterfly
                       no one knows you
                       when you're down
                       and out





vokalisation

                     Hej mand, du har tabt dine vinger”

ravnen
lyder som

                     ”Næh, jeg blev nødt til at sælge dem.
                      En engel må ha' brød på bordet”


den opgående
sol

                     citronsommerfugl
                     ingen vil kendes ved dig
                     når du er på røven

Monday 10 June 2013

Noah's 119th egg / Noahs 119nde æg

just
about
enough

                         now the homeless woman has been forced
                         to relocate. Her patch is dug up, men are
                         cutting op big granite blocks into something
                         I suppose will be part of the new look of
                         the place. She has moved all her stuff across
                         the street and is now camping on the pavement.
                         It's a wide pavement. She isn't in the way. But
                         I'm sure someone will make a fuzz. There are still
                         folks about (mostly newcomers) who think the
                         inner city can be as well ordered as the posh suburbs.

a world
centre

                         She made a web-site. On a piece of cardboard
                         she has written the URL and placed it for everyone
                         to see and she wears a knitted bonnet despite the 
                         summer-like heat. I haven't yet visited her site.

of vanilla
ice cream

                         petrochemical rainbow
                         I ride a turtle back
                         into the dream-time



***




lige
næsten
nok

                         nu har den hjemløse kvinde været nødt
                         til at finde et andet sted. Hendes plads er
                         gravet op, mænd skærer i kæmpe granitblokke
                         for at fremstille et eller andet, som tilsyneladende
                         skal være en del af pladsens nye look. Hun flyttede
                         alt sit habengut over på den anden side af gaden
                         og har nu slået lejr på fortovet. Det er et bredt
                         fortov, så hun sidder ikke i vejen, men der er nok
                         nogen, der skal finde på at brokke sig. Der er stadig
                         folk heromkring (mest tilflyttere), der tror at den
                         indre by kan være ligeså velordnet som de fine
                         forstæder.
et
verdens
center

                         hun har lavet en hjemmeside. På et stykke pap
                         har hun skrevet URL'en og har hængt det, hvor alle
                         kan se det. Hun har en strikket hue på trods
                         de sommerlige temperaturer. Jeg har
                         ikke besøgt hendes side.
.
af vaniljeis

                        petrokemisk regnbue
                        på en skildpadde rider  jeg tilbage
                        ind i drømmetiden

Saturday 8 June 2013

Noah's 118th egg / Noahs 118nde æg

defying
the lying
bumblebees

                     other than this darkness


enough
to

                   (and it doesn't matter
                    whose hands done it)


get up

                   a clay pot
                   tossed among
                   clay pots







trodser
humlebiernes
løgne

                    bortset fra mørket

nok
til at

                   (det er ligegyldigt
                    hvilke hænder der skabte det)

stå op

                    en lerpotte
                    smidt mellem
                    lerkrukker

Friday 7 June 2013

Noah's 117th slightly off egg / Noahs 117de lettere rådne æg

I give up

                     It started early, that there
                     ”not being impressed by appearances”
                     thing. In my early teens I saw cheap
                     plastic, painted plywood, wires and
                     tents, greedy merchant out to sell me
                     the least quality for as much money
                     as possible. Where others saw the amusement
                     park. I saw the amusement park as well
                     but it was a mirage luring us into a phoney
                     world of supposed fun; it was sort of a shimmering
                     layer trying to cover up the ugly truth. If painted
                     plywood and cheap plastic is ugly.

counting
the leaves

                     When I grew older I liked going
                     to those places off season to take photos.
                     Or before opening hours when ”the rat
                     was dressing itself up to be king” … or
                     something like that.


in the window
frame

                     Desafinado
                     a blue bossa slips
                     from Maya's mouth




Desafinado”, a bossa nova by Joao Gilberto,
Desafinado means “out of tune”, “off key”

Maya: the veil of illusion making us think that the material world Is real.


*-*-*


jeg
opgiver

                  Det startede tidligt, det dér med
                 ”ikke at være imponeret af fremtoningen”-
                  tingen. I mine tidlige teenageår så jeg
                  billig plastik, malet masonit, ledninger
                  og telte, grådige købmænd, der ville sælge
                  mig det billigste så dyrt, de kunne. Hvor andre så
                  en forlystelsespark. Jeg så også forlystelsesparken,
                  men det var en luftspejling, der lokkede os
                  ind i en falsk verden af tilsyneladende morskab;
                  var ligesom en flimrede hinde, der forsøgte
                  at dække over den grimme sandhed. Hvis
                  malet masonit og plastik er grimt.

at tælle
bladene

                  Da jeg blev lidt ældre yndede jeg at besøge
                  de steder udenfor sæsonen for at fotografere.
                  Eller før åbningstid mens ”rotten iklædte sig
                  en konges klæder” … noget i den retning.

I vindues
rammen

                  Desafinado
                  en blå bossa undslipper
                  Mayas mund




Desafinado” er en bossanova af Joao Gilberto,
Desafinado” betyder “en smule falsk”, “lidt ved sinden af”

Maya: illusionens slør, der prøver at bilde os ind
at den fysiske verden er virkelig

Wednesday 5 June 2013

Noah's 116th egg / Noahs 116nde æg

nicely
restored




Went to the station carrying
15 kilos of laundry, only to discover
that the trains run on a holiday
schedule. That meant waiting
for 50 minutes. Which I didn't.
Mañana. It's Constitution Day
and everyone has a day off. Except
the folks at the supermarket. This
time of year a lot the summer cottages
are being moved into for the season.
That means that a lot of fridges and
freezers need to be refilled and a lot
wine and beer to go with the BBQ
dinners about to make the air unbreathable.
and
colourful




Behind the lilacs at the sheltered housing
home a few hundred meters away someone
is singing like they think pop or rock stars
sing. That kind of half shouting that sounds
better in a recording studio. It sounds like
murder with a refrain. Booze and brain
damages doesn't go well together.
the mayhem
at Doomsday




Fly Me to the Moon”
going down in
the elevator




pænt
istandsat




Tog til stationen med 15 kilo
vasketøj blot for at opdage, at
at toget kørte efter køreplanen
for helligdage. Det betød, at jeg
skulle vente 50 minutters. Det gjorde
jeg ikke. Mañana. Det er Grundlovsdag
og alle har fri. Bortset fra dem, der arbejder
i supermarkedet. På denne tid af året starter
sommerhussæsonen. Det betyder, at der
er en masse køleskabe og frysere, der skal
fyldes op samt en masse øl og vin til at
drikke ved grill'ene, der snart vil forpeste
luften.
og
farverig




Fra den anden side af syrenerne, fra de
beskyttede boliger et par hundrede meter
væk, er der nogen, der forsøger at synge,
som de tror en rock- eller popstjerne synger.
Sådan halvt skrigende. Det lyder nok bedre
i et studie, sådan noget. Det lyder som et mord
med omkvæd. Sprut og hjerneskader passer
ikke godt sammen.


Dommedags
ødelæggelser




”Fly Me to the Moon”
jeg kører ned
i elevatoren

Tuesday 4 June 2013

Noah's 115th egg (still dirty) / Noahs 115nde æg (stadig beskidt)

behind
the super

                   well, I meant to go washing today.
                   Yesterday I did the same but never
                   got that far. I guess the Universe
                   wants me to stay smelly or stay in.
                   Whatever the reason, a man in a tractor
                   got rammed by the train and now
                   all traffic is down. Tomorrow,
                   tomorrow, there's always tomorrow,
                   and I still have plenty of incense, patchouli
                   and fragrant oils.

I kick up
the Blues

                   In stead I phone the doctor for some
                   sleeping pills and painkillers. I haven't
                   slept for a week except for the odd
                   hour or so filled with exhausting dreams
                   about not being able to get the crushed
                   fenugreek seeds that I want.
                   Something to think about. If I had the
                   energy.

in a patch
of clover

                   bright nights
                   (for as long it lasts)
                   Cronos eats another one
                   of my darlings







bag
super
markedet

                   jeg havde planer om, at tage på
                   vaskeri i dag. Det havde jeg også
                   i går, men kom ikke så langt. Måske
                   synes universet, at jeg skal blive
                   ved med at lugte eller forblive hjemme.
                   Uanset grunden torpederede toget
                   en mand i en traktor og al trafik er
                   indstillet. I morgen er der atter en dag;
                   der er altid i morgen, og jeg har masser
                   af røgelse, patchouli og æteriske
                   olier.

sparker jeg
til melankoliens
blå fugl

                   i stedet bestiller jeg sovepiller og
                   smertestillere hos lægen. Jeg har
                   næsten ikke sovet i en uge bortset
                   fra en times tid indimellem, med udmattende
                   drømme om ikke at kunne få fat i
                   de knuste bukkehornsfrø, jeg ville
                   have.
                   Noget af tænke over; hvis jeg havde
                   energien.

i en
kløverplet

                   lyse nætter
                  (sålænge det varer)
                   Kronos spiser endnu een
                   af mine yndlinge