Morning Light
Morning Light.
In the morning breeze petals fall off the rhododendron bush. The terrace is
a magic carpet and on the wall sunlight and shadows enact an ancient play.
Dogs still asleep, the cock has not crewed, only the old man across the road
who fears his own death, is up; even for him there is solace in the glory of
an August morning. A plane crosses the sky leaves, behind exhausted dreams;
tired tourists going home. Alfredo is up starting his noisy tractor he will collect
carob beans before it gets too hot. He used to have two of stubborn mules
harvesting took longer then, but the beasts made the landscape more pretty.
I have been here a long time, this tranquil bay away from North Atlantic storms,
so let me soak up the peace of this morning before I set sail for another voyage
across the seas of reveries.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Obsession
Obsession
The pianist Albert has got a job in Loulé last time
I saw him in Faro and fell over a pollard, he said
he was not my father. When he spotted me he ran
into a café, they let him run through the kitchen
into the back, a dead end; I waited for him there.
“If you don´t stop following me I will have to call
the police, I´M NOT YOUR FATHER.” To mollify
him I said: “ I know you are not, but I do admire
your piano playing. ”This pleased him and we had
a drink and he told me he came from Yugoslavia,
had wanted to be a concert pianist, but there was
no money, so he ended up as a café pianist… just
as my father I thought but said nothing… then he
had to leave for work, saw him walk out of my life
just as my father did, there was nothing I could do
to stop this man who refused to be my dad.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Execution
Execution
Ann had killed two men, for that she was fated to
die, there had been many appeals, they were in
vain; the governor too, not a man of much emotion,
had turned his manicured thumbs down.
Ann had been in our prison, five years now and had
become a friend and it was us, her keepers, whose
task it was to end her life, this woman who felt safe
in our jail, but she had brutally killed two men.
She asked us to be in the death room with her and
we spoke to her as she was injected with lethal drugs
and slipped away. A murderess that had killed her
father and brother, but refused to tell anyone why.
I was alone in the office when the phone rang,
the governor himself on the line, it was his birthday
and if it wasn’t too late her life could be spared.
[...] Read more
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Cylindrical Mirrors
Cylindrical Mirrors
Crossing the raven waters of a deep fiord
he saw a light and fell into a dream, woke
up on a strand that had bleached sand, sun
and turquoise sea, knew he had been given
a second chance.
He looked in the mirror had not aged at
all and wondered if there was a painting
hidden in some dusty attic, he smiled just
kidding, but his image didn’t smile there
was too much to remember.
Last year he went back to the small town
where the fiord arm ends in five rivers,
people there had never heard of him, it was
so long ago, no memory of him existed in
anyone’s mind, as he had never existed.
[...] Read more
poem by Oskar Hansen
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No Hiding Place
No hiding Place
Shadow, shadow on the wall why did you disappear? Now I can’t go into
the bathroom to see if I’m here. Look at the map of Rumania, think of Dracula
switch on more light; and remember I have no garlic cloves. Look up Norway,
on the Google map, such a pleasant country, peace loving people,
the plods carry no guns and you can ask them for direction and they will tell
you where to go should you be as stupid as get lost in their quaint little towns.
But I also see a man dressed in fantasy uniform, walking around a lake island
killing children like they should be rabbits infected with myxomatosis and
it must be stopped before it spreads to people on the mainland.
The shadow on the wall is back looks familiar I wave the shadow waves back.
I’m safe in my tiny Portuguese village, but for how long?
poem by Oskar Hansen
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A Christmas Tale
Meat is Meat (a christmas tale)
Santa came running up the road his coat was open
exposing a hairy belly, arms full of parcels, asked
me if I was a vet, because Rudolf had broken its leg.
Told him I was a destroyer of Christmas, took delight
telling children that Santa was their own uncle Ted)
every child got an uncle Ted) but was willing this once
to help him out. I called a Lapland friend, who has
a herd of reindeer lives in a tent and is dressed for
year long winters, he gave us a reindeer for free as
he too was a sentimental fool and had eight children.
Problem solved, but what about Rudolf? We sent him
to an abattoir where he was humanly slaughtered,
(humanly, means he was shot through its head when
eating carrots) as a reindeer is too cute to eat its flesh
was sold as veal, which is meat of doe eyed calves.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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One Of Us
One of Us.
There is a smudge on my computer screen I try to clean it with spit,
but no. Perhaps it is finger mark left behind by those strange people
who sit in back of the computer repair shop? Their diet is cola and
chocolate, yet they are thin, bald and so weedy looking I have must
whisper to them or they will shrink away. They sulk too if I disagree
with their findings it will take weeks before I get my computer back.
When the owner shuts shop they climb into toolboxes, the ones with
the helpful drawing of a screwdriver. Maybe the smudge is a camera
eye, they sit in there and watch me. When I have drink tonight I’ll
pour it in my bedroom, then go into the bathroom, smoke a cigarette.
Buy a can of cola and a bar of chocolate, eat and drink in front
of the screen. And they will say: “Look, he is one of us.”
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Tarn Of Life
The Tarn of Life.
There many couples in the glade, the men
had shaving blades with which they cut
stripes on their women’s back, not deep
but enough for blood to trickle down and
make a pattern that spelt love.
I tried, but my blade was blunt, couldn’t
make her bleed, miserable she left me as
I was not able to let her suffer for love;
a failure in the ritual of married life and
shamed I walked away from the dell.
In a forest where trees were grey and had
lost all leaves I came upon an empty lake
and, saw at the bottom, the bleached, soft
bones of an embryo, it had blue eyes and
looked unblinkingly up at me.
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poem by Oskar Hansen
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Meeting Angels
Meeting Angles
He had an overcoat on, looked hump backed and had a dreamy look
In his angelic eyes. I knew he was a seraph. He had bought a bag of
apples.” Forbidden fruit where I come from he said our master only
eats oranges so we have to eat that boring tasteless fruit too.” His
eyes looked livid now, but then he smiled and offered me an apple.
Two men, in big overcoats and holy smile, white Indoor faces, you
could see they were up to no good, came sidling up. Took the bag of
apples from the angel and gave it to me. One of them whispered to
me: Gab hasn’t been too well lately, he is obsessed by the story of
Adam and Eve and is longing to be cast out of heaven so he can taste
the sin of the flesh.” Three angles took their overcoats off- one did so
unwillingly- and blindingly naked they flew, into the sunset.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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A Man's Alexandria
A Man’s Alexandria
A woman came into the living room looking sideways
she brought ice cold beer and snacks, Alexandria, this
this was a modern Egyptian his waif’s face not covered
by a veil, the skin of her face was poke marked. I heard
voices in the kitchen it was of his daughters but I never
saw them, and that was ok, I do not know how to talk
to children. When we left the house they all had
disappeared into grey shadows, my Egyptian friend
shouted orders to no one in particular. Nightclub and
belly dancing, my friend disappeared with one of them,
I had been the stooge, but all bills had been paid, so ok.
Walked back to my ship alone, packs of docks along
the docks didn’t bother me; I had met a culture I didn’t
understand my Egyptian friend said that he didn’t had any
children since he didn’t have sons.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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