Another Silence

Silence

Jarring things silence, voices in my head go on arguing about
the most humdrum subjects.22.55, or 23 hours? Look at
your watch, dust head. Always keep it ten minutes fast as not
miss the bus. Where are you going so late? Home, you idiot,
I can´t sit in the bar all night. The barman is polishing glasses,
spits on them to makes them shiny; none of my business.
I drink beer from the bottle, Walk home, Chomsky is going on
and on world´s coming to an end, and USA is an evil empire.
Furiously shake an almond tree its flowers fall silent as snow.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Longest Dream

It is always the same I take the bus in the morning
but I never get home, can’t tell the driver where to
stop as I have forgotten the name of my valley

I see it clearly when I close my eyes, a small cabin
in the forest’s clearing. My dog is there waiting
and she has waited long.

She hears the sound of a bus nearing the clearing,
but then it changes direction and the sound of its
diesel engine fades slowly away.

She goes back to sleep her patience is endless
she knows she’s not forsaken. I will return to her
when remembering where I live.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Long Necked Ruminant

Long Necked Ruminant

So you think a camel is just an ugly animal,
a camel has kissable lips and eyes like
Marilyn Monroe; and it gives milk, low fat and
nourishing. But I bet you didn’t know that.

When a four wheel, stops by lack of petrol in
the sand of Sahara, the camel with its padded
cloves trudges along, smells like hell, but
who cares when it can bring you to an oasis.

Sweet dates, cold water and languor under
palm trees, a dream comes true, but do not
forget it was a camel that brought you there.
And have you ever tasted camel cheese?

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Church Bells

Church Bells
Once I lived in a charming English village, near
an ancient church, every Sunday morning
on my only day off, the bloody bells chimed.
Thought I saw a woman cycling to mass in
the mist, and it wasn´t Germaine Greer.
When Muslims ruled Andalusia, they tolerated
Christians, but a poet of that time -Ibn Baqi-
circa 1059 1112, wished they wouldn´t clang
bells so hard waking him up when air was cool,
sleep sweet and his Christian mistress had to
get up and go to mass. So far nothing has
changed, dear Ibn Baqi, the bells keep on tolling

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Love By The River

Love by the River.

I carried the old fashion gramophone,
she carried the records to the river.
We sat and I kissed her while listening
to 1959 records.

Let´s have a dip. Naked we swam in
the moonlit river that cleanses disgust.
Her armpits had the aroma of clover

Started gramophone again, music back
then was so trite, lyrics boring and her
body looked enchanting in moonlight.

I threw the bloody music machine into
the river, she did ditto with the records.
We made love in stillness as trout waked
I regretted not having brought a fishing rod.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Secular Pope

The secular Pope

Cuba 1957, Havana was full of randy tourists,
prostitutes, gambling casinos and assassins.
Castro was still up his mountain stronghold,
when a robber came onboard our ship;
he was caught on the wooden dock by two
police officers, who pocketed his loot.
He was told to run away and then they shot
him dead…five bullets in his back.
Young red blood dripped into turquoise sea.
The officers laughed holstered guns and lit
Marlboro cigarettes. But Fidel Castro was on
his way down from the mountain and Cuba
would get her dignity back.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Date

Eight o’clock under the railway clock, she said.
I had bought flowers only because mother said
it was the right thing to do.

Nine o’clock, drizzle, flowers wet I felt daft, and
was hungry too. Threw flowers into a bin walked
to the restaurant; our table, still free. I had steak
with salad, potatoes and a bottle of red wine.
I had been stood up, but looked cool, I often go
out for a meal alone so what’s the big deal?

My date, Sandra, showed up at eleven and out of
breath, train delayed. Now the kitchen had closed,
but she got a bag of crisp.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Awakining

The long Awakening

My first wife’s house was very small. She wouldn’t let me sleep
In her bed, said I could sleep in her bathtub.
In the night I woke up, thought I was in a coffin, got up,
opened the bathroom window and saw the moon washed sea.
I have seen the same sea from many portholes always enchanting,
And my cabin was a pool of stillness.
Walked out of sleeping house, by the steps, my old dog,
I patted its head it wagged tail, but refused to come with me.
Under a lamppost, in a circle of light, I stood waiting for a bus
I knew would never come.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Thw~E Hidden

It always comes back to the same thing, something
I should remember, But am unwilling to do so; and
it may not be important, just a passing thought
fluctuating through my day, something I read or said:
I must remember this. The "this" Is quickly forgotten
but leaves behind restlessness, dissatisfaction;
pointing to a place I have not had the courage to go.
It will come to me sooner or later, perhaps it hides in
The sentences I have just written, like a cannot see it
words. Carefully read what I have written to see if
the essential is included.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Soft Rain

Soft Rain

I like rain, not hard, angry rain with an attitude
who, was neglected by the mother cloud, and
angrily show its hate towards those who had
nothing to do with its misbegotten infanthood.
No I´m thinking of soft rain that is like a caress,
a kiss of eternities promises.

And nature is still, this is a moment of rapture
a longing for so long denied blissfully fulfilled.
The dampness of my skullcap and my alpaca
jacket is so soft that it almost feels like oil, but
I know I´m just a spectator under an umbrella
who ought to go home and lit the fire.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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