Blank Decency
Blank Decency
The capital of Norway, Oslo, has well lit
clean streets swept clear of humanity;
you’ll see clusters of people here and there
sat inside plastic tents- pavement cafes-
smoking tobacco. And now that it’s illegal
to buy sex too, streets will be cleaner then
before. If a consumer of bought of sex
thinks he can go abroad and buy it he will,
if found out, be prosecuted.
There are still cars driving around these
empty streets, to get rid of them it might
be an idea to ban the purchase of petrol;
a car free city, something to boast about,
tourists come and puff virtuous Oslo air.
Those who miss driving can when in, say,
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poem by Oskar Hansen
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Peaceful Beginnings
Peaceful Beginnings
On an island, in a big ocean, generals walk about
think they have killed a dream and call sullen
silence peace. The crushed will go on dreaming
till they get what they want, maybe by then their
vision has become a suffocating dream.
Nearer home, in the Middle East, the mighty are
trying to kill a dream by bulldozing it, they too
had a vision and should know that dreams cannot
be eradicated. Now they want power, and call it
peace; but there are those who call it a nightmare.
Of course in the immeasurable future there will
be colossal amounts of peace, the sun will cross
the heavens and the world will heal in silence; till,
on the strand of pure sand, sky and sea may give
birth to a living creature and a scream is heard.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Chicken and Other Foods
She is coming home tonight, been away for two days.
Bought her, what she likes… a well roasted chicken.
On the farm where I was brought up, old hens that
didn’t lay eggs as before had heads chopped off and
ended up in the pot. Incredible tough meat had to boil
it for hours. Never liked the smell in a chicken coop,
I think concentration camps must have stunk like that
too many bodies in small rooms and no escape.
The coop’s capo wasn’t safe either, when it didn’t
perform as before, off with its head. When she enjoys
her roasted chicken with lemon sauce I will eat a burger,
since it doesn’t look remotely like a dead animal and as
I have never seen a dead cow, only milked them every
morning at five, it will taste ok with Italian salad.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Failed Musician
Failed Musician?
My uncle died, he was on holiday in Piraeus when a pig fell off
a balcony, he left a piano and since his wife didn’t want it in her
house, mother took it, only because it would lend an impression
of high culture, and no one else in our neighbourhood had one.
I played on it day and night, picked up tunes on radio and played
them on the piano; people where impressed, mother too, but she
needed her rest worked long hours at a canning factory; one day,
coming home from school, a big empty space, I cried mother gave
me Danish pastry, they were a day old but still tasty. I’m glad she
sold the piano, though I might have ended up a restaurant pianist
driving from town to town playing evergreens as background music
for bored diners
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Flying Leaf
Flying leaf.
Tuesday I´ve looked in my kill list, but couldn´t find
anyone to drone today, yet had time for the betting
shop and won ten euros on a horse called Abdulla.
In my trunks only, I went for a scooter drive; country
lane a woman came out of her dwelling and crossed
herself, yes I look like an overcooked vanilla pudding;
but no need of her to throw pebbles and set her
poodles on me. Why do I end up in the wrong places?
Once was waiting for a bus taking me to Garston and
it was raining; I have forgotten what I was doing there,
I remember a black woman who gave me a sunshine
smile and rain stopped. Still Tuesday and I have no
assassination list ready only memories of a life where
I was torn from the mother oak, drifting in the wind
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Interment
Funeral.
A young man died in his sleep he was 49 years old, with my aged eyes
he was boy too young to die. I don't know the medical reason for his
early demise, think it has to do with burst blood vessel in the brain.
I went to his funeral last Sunday it was a sunny noon and thought at
least heavens could have cried. I didn't know him, but had hoped to
meet his sister, whom I adore, telling how sorry I was for her loss; but
the whole family was there in common grief, I wouldn't intrude in their
unhappiness. I spoke to a friend of hers and asked her to extend my
concern, I wanted her to know that I had been there to show respect
and that I cared. But could not escape the gnaw of guilt in my heart,
hadn't it been for her I might not have attended.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Dentistry And Reflections
The dentist and Reflections
Up there in the continuous darkness of the universe
I saw a streak of light... a dying comets last hurrah.
Bedroom very dark couldn’t sleep too much death
for one night. Got up and read an article that plants
speak to each other. “Warning a heavy footed man
is coming your way.” “Duck a lawn mower is at large.”
Amputated roses and tulips chafes in a vase kept
alive for a few days... admire beauty in death agony.
Carrots screaming in distress when pulled from soil...
good for your health, dieticians says.
Everything we like, what we eat are, hurting plants
and animals. Which, reminds me I’ve an appointment
with my dentist tomorrow, gardener of my glum teeth,
he will speak softly as he pulls up out another tooth.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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A Housewife In Alexandria
A housewife in Alexandria.
The woman in Alexandria Egypt in her black chador
which mercifully hides a thin, body, lines up outside
a bakery she has walked six miles to buy bread for
the day. Her body could have fitted a Dior’s creation
snugly but as it is she has to haste home and feed
her children. She has been to the fruit market too
where rib cage showing mules with open sores wait,
their starvation have lasted so long that they are no
longer hungry but eat when fed. A rich woman, who
has never felt the pang of hunger, tells mule drivers
off for not taking care of their beasts and dispenses
salve on animals’ sores. The woman, with a model’s
body, is poor and blind to this, empathy with animals
are for the wealthy, those with time to care.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Third Generation
The old man in the square sells trinkets and balloons
when he has got enough money to buy a little dream
and he enters the market town's only saloon.
By the bar thinks of his lemon selling father who had
a mule that had white as a duckling's plume, and
fruit as yellow as only Gunter Grass can paint them.
Remembers his grandfather a cobbler who walked
around town with a sack of promises given to him by
people who were never around on pay day.
Every Christmas he opened the sack and let broken
promises fly up in the air and forever disappear, liars
and cheats should not feel guilty of telling fibs.
Outside the old man's balloons had flown away, free
of strings filled the air with jubilation like errant people
who had once again been let off the catch.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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It Is A Wonder
It’s a Wonder
Old rock you who have lived through eons of time can you tell me when
the beginning began? Or is time a spinning wheel of perpetual motion,
a Nevada desert of killed gangsters, in shallow graves, waiting for me
to find their dry bones and seek closure by revenge. You needn’t answer,
our brother the pebble, soon to be dyed red and be a tiny part of a posh
driveway, says the ultimate goal for life is Nirvana which, for a pebble,
means to be a golden ring around a tropical island.
When the wheel stops having spun a cardigan to keep you warm as you
sail to the mystical, misty island of Saragossa Sea. Only you have to pay,
now since a venture capitalist bought the island (including mist) and
turned it into a nautical themed amusement park.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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