Engelska

De här dikterna är på engelska men de är från den tiden då jag sänkte mig ner i engelsk poesi som huvudet ner i en skål med skimrande fiskar, så att allt skakades om i mitt huvud till ett eget språk som jag inte avsåg för någon annan att läsa men som bredde ut min ungdom på alldeles egna vingar. 

Det är nio fiskar i skålen här. Alla behöver man inte ha ambitionen att förstå. Vem förstår en skimrande fisk? Roligt att jag tittade i papperskorgen och hittade dessa skrynkliga dikter på engÄlska.



Cup 

I want reality with imagination
not a reality of stonefaces
not an imagination of colourghosts
But a big ball mixed
with reality taking on the other´s
space
imagination taking on the other´s
flesh
And to drink it in a company
secluded from the cyclop infants ...



Can you hear that cuckoo calling?

I was a little me and blind in the year of nought.
Shining with despair I decrossed the only
way back. Sprawling on headwards, but
too wrong, too fast and keen; no early
momentum in life.

Mais le temps, the violin of everyair,
realized me gripping. Hearing now the
busy knock, knock yonder I millioned
the habit, pushing climbing dreaming
that ol´ death away.

Born I was by the brizzling breast.
Born I was by the blushing moon.
And I heard the cuckoo calling.
I would disexist it, only was it a bird.
Can you hear that cuckoo calling?



The anticipating and guiding of constraint

That agileness of your tongue
don´t not come to deserty agony
awhich me once time was awakened into
Neither of your fourth-hands
can pull your easy hurricane down my
throat - or a mouth - in a fist of storm
Bounds me accountedly through that
owly
Mouth is a green-eyed envy
in a rage of ever so
barbed as a stomache in ever so
galloping the living daylight

I ascribe these attending the unthoughtable
and let it be by that



Birth of Cappleton  

This is the anywhere clever and bold
laid out in the morning sun-glow.
I´m watching the chasm of heaven and gold
and nowhere am I so low.

Passed like a beating sea to the rocks
a swimmer is nigh crawling in
despairing a live opportunity knocks
in a grotto beneath the skin.

My earth, ye dark-night frightened face,
invite me this costly chill.
Allow me to sleep in your fatal grace
and good night to my beautiful will.



Lady by the water 

The night was dreaming
when she hit the scene
near a rosy flower-bed
with a shining bright serene
well of silver-melting ice.

I said: - Art though a fairy?
And so I shut me eyes.
... This is a fancy ... must stay cool!
but she sat down by the flower-bed
gazing softly at the pool.

- Mercy mother! cried I then.
Who are you? A dream?
She smiled. - My friend,
here I am,
have you been waiting long?

No word, no brooding mind or thought.
I knew her. She knew me.
And the sentiment of gentliest sort
grabbed me as I seized her hair
and caressed her lips with mine.

Her eyes they glittered like
the silver well of melting ice,
laughed and warmed like firelight.
Low she said: You move me -
And I loved her through the night.

And awoke the following morrow
with the world a turned-over cart
and the sea as long gone dry
as the desert of my heart.
Then I wept her sweetly again.



Kingly solitary contemplation

I

The golden bridge that sets between the worlds
the drizzling nature and the pile of bricks,
they´re not friends but they´re connected.
There - a man is walking on the bridge
a-heading home? And then engulfed in darkness.
Ah world, the homelessnes of everything,
the continual ache of mankind as gathered all
below that waiting sword, that straining cord
invisible of reach and pityless of time.

Why don´t we shout at the heavens, mount our woe
to be told by a skeleton when to go?
The years own you, laming your head with age
awhile you´re stirring indifferently within your cage.


II

Gazing through the window, how dark outside,
the balcony, nay, too cold, it´s better here.
Just look, to the left my rock, I spy it clearly
standing silhouetted ´gainst the square of nets.
The one side rough, the other smooth
the keeper of goals I dimly recall.
I can see me down there and the game is a-foot
when I land in an easy silence
upon the wings of imagination

and the rock is returning that ball of mine
and the rhythm of nature and man is one
and the stars are daughters of a hidden sun
bewitched in the moonlight´s floating wine.


III

The curtains are giving another flutter.
Inanities of air and slavery of mind
on which I wreak my tons of denunciation!
But that is neither here nor here,
I don´t hold the club and my hair´s long enough.
My mama would have me to a choir school
and I said nay but watch me now
I dared not go but am singing now
in the loneliness of a royal night.

A little bit heaven, a little bit hell,
it is with a merely pen I sing
with nothing to say, but telling it well
- so I am the only king.



A walk through the day and the life  

How damned is not my soul
that I walked out in the day
with the chill of late day
crisping about my feet
Limping was I not
yeah limping from my home
aimlessly with a
sigh too loud a breath
to destroy my silence

Everyone I see
caring not for a farthing
and bent and crooked and
searching for something

I don´t care
walking like a shadow from home
going toward anywhere or nowhere
in the dead of day
I love it here

Limping on
the ache is coming from my knee
the one I think I cracked
when falling in the dark
Matter not the people´s heads and eyes to me
and briefcases
Those that bowed and searched
with sad accepting eyes
disdirected overironed plastified yes

Going now
aimlessly in the thickening chill
And here is my old school
am I already there
what gaiety and peace rolled across me here!
days of scared neglect
and love-lamed oblivion
how large it is
the red brick school cemented by dream

Time is well evening now
the year is 1970
and I have turned 20
my coat is blue and underneath
I´m empty
The limp is there and slows me down
is that the sun the moon
or a lamp-post
yes good good heaven-heart

Who am I to quiver then
God or Nature needle
I have no mind to flee
no mind to mind
Mercy mother sun sky
sing your mending melody
the world is not
and the sun is all I love
all I love



The first of my morning chastity

toodiloo said my orchard and here you shall lie
there´s a wall here you call your skin
that hurtful heart and a hungry hole
they will see you later I trust

beloved and bellowed and blank as a day
all my life was a tenderness
and I heard through the orchard a lovelike song
´neath a sky and a merry wind

Hey, presto

hey presto, m´lady, try me

so you asked me:
what time of day is it?
and I replied that I love you

and you asked me:
is this the way to Whatchamacallit?
and I replied that I love you

and you asked me:
so will we meet again sometime somewhere?
and I told you your eyes are blue and your lips are red and you hair is yellow
and what is an earthquake doing in my heart

so you know I know
all you can ever ask