Accident Prone
Accident Prone Pilot.
The ship was going up river to unload
containers full of scooters and tractors;
rain upland water level higher than usual.
There is an overpass across the river and
the ship´s bridge and communication mast
collided with it. It took a month to repair
damage to the ship and she was ready to
sail down the river, out to deep sea again.
There had been no rain for rain for a month
water level was lower than usual.
Going under the bridge was a piece of cake,
nervous pilot and anxious captain smiled,
but then the ship shuddered and got stuck in
the mud.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Aristocratic War
The Aristocratic War.
A lone burgundy poppy, amongst the weed on
verge of the lane remembers World War 1,
few wars- this so romantic English war- are as
well recorded. Verdun and stinking mud, many
poems written (not that verses ever stopped
the juggernaut of war.) Plinths and cenotaph,
statues of generals -covered in bird droppings-
astride bronze horses, in every town. Lest we
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poem by Oskar Hansen
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Dearth Of Bees
Spring, and pretty flowers have opened up, even those
that pretend they are not in a loving disposition.
Not many bees around anymore because of chemicals
farmers spray on crops many have gone metro and lost
interest, fly low over still water so they can admire their
flying skill, or sit on the sunny wall of my house full of
self admiration; some hang languidly around a honey jar.
The few that still take interest in beautiful flowers are
exhausted and dropp dead long before the day is over.
Pretty flowers close petals over moist carpel and hope
for a better luck tomorrow.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Unspoken Betrayal
It was not that she was my girlfriend she worked in a bar
and men was a part of her life and economic resources, but
For the duration she was my friend. You liked her too, but
the unspoken law was to keep away from your mate’s woman.
I was on duty and saw you sneak ashore at midnight.
Next day you avoided me. Nothing was said, we are all free
to follow our own moral norm, but we never met for drinks
anymore, whether in Rio de Janeiro or Buenos Aires.
A winter day in Amsterdam, and it was noon, I saw you walk
down the gangway, suitcase in hand, you didn’t turn to wave.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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A Moment In Time
An Autumnal Moment
The autumn light has faded it is night now,
Heat lingers, melts the ice in my whisky.
This is the best time of the day and I will
Not think of tomorrow’s day.
The terrace is full of fallen flowers and
Only slowly they will blow away.
All traces of summer will be gone and
What’s left is a vague memory.
That once upon a time there was a spring,
Summer and endless joys of youth.
But I shall sleep easily in my bed as long as
I feel the good warmth of my lover.
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poem by Oskar Hansen
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Old Ocean
Old Ocean
They break up big boulders, near the houses where I live,
what I see used to be the bottom of an old ocean.
The stones break easily, pieces glitter as crystal in the sun.
I pick up a splinter, lick it and can taste the cool, clear sea.
My inner ear picks up the sea’s ripples on the strand, but
also, the contented hum of an ocean alone. I also hear its
ire as waves upon waves, futilely, crashes on to jagged
cliffs of perpetuity. Overcome by awe I’ve tasted eternity,
It’s salty; and if you get too obsessed about it, can give you
fatally high blood pressure.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Mouse Killer
I mouse came down from the cane roof
or rather fell down. It was no bigger than my thumb.
The mouse tried to hide in the printer.
Kill it, kill it she screamed and ran into the kitchen.
I picked it up it was so soft, stroked its belly and
it fell asleep. Took the little life into the shed and
just left it there beside the tool box.
Have you killed it, she asked. Yes I smashed its head
in with a hammer, hoping to sound tough.
She smiled and said: “I don’t believe you.”
Fear of rodents, had it been a rat falling from the roof
I would be the first one running into the kitchen.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Dream On!
Clouds hang low today covering the ridge,
if I drive up there on my bike I can hide in
a steel blue cloud and people will say:
where is he? Him! He is trying to find
the milky way where postmen wear red
uniforms and say good morning sir before
handing you the gas bill.
Sigh, here back on earth the post has been
privatized low status, casual work, they
wear jeans and anorak and have no time for
a chat, their route is long and a man with
a timepiece follows them around.
When coming down from the ridge I will not
carry tablets, stay silent drive home and
make a cup of coffee.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Losing Armies
May 1945, the occupying forces in Norway surrenders, a flag
is lowered another one hoisted. The occupiers’ commandant
hand his revolver to the man from the home front, there is
dignity. The enemy now prisoners, go back to their barracks
and wait to be skipped home to their country.
Another war, in the Middle East 70 years later, the occupiers
leave in the night unseen by the masses, they too have lost
but pretend they are victors. No dignity, only an unspoken
sense of dishonor. And the soldiers, of the vanquished army,
will be demobbed, given medals and sacrifices are forgotten.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Autumnal Sunday
Autumnal Sunday
Rain, it is October the month of melancholy
and you know that the blue sky and sun of
yesterday was just another foolish illusion
the cock didn’t crow this morning and dogs
ears didn’t move when a stranger’s voice
echoed in narrow streets, they knew it was
the voice of doom;
the harvester had arrived in coming month
the old would succumb to the damp breath
of death; not too many tears shed, faces in
a black frame, yes, that’s the way it is we
understand death if not our own. Dogs need
not be told, they snooze sure they are own
their own immortality
poem by Oskar Hansen
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