Noah's 127th egg (flow tv) / Noahs 127nde æg (flow tv)

they scream

                     every now and then my TV offers

                     to turn itself off. It gives me 60 seconds

                     to make a decision. 60 seconds! it has

                     taken 50 years to even build up the resolve

                     to face that choice is a part of life.

                     I prefer flowing along like a leaf on the wind.

as they return

                     I have to press a button to cancel the

                     automatic shut-down, and even if there's

                     nothing really worth watching I usually press it

                     and it keeps on showing me whatever

                     it shows me. This is going with the flow, I think,

                     and remind myself that the new word for

                     old-fashioned broadcasting is flow TV.

the swallows

                     Western gale

                     I change a paper hat

                     to a boat

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤||¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

de skriger

                    fra tid til anden tilbyder mit tv mig

                    at slukke for sig selv. Det giver mig

                    60 sekunder at træffe en beslutning i.

                    60 sekunder! Det har taget mig 50 år

                    at opbygge modet til at at erkende, at

                    valg er en del af livet.

                    Jeg foretrækker at flyde med som et

                    blad for vinden.

når de vender

tilbage

                    Jeg skal trykke på en knap for at afbryde

                    den automatiske nedlukning, og selvom der

                    ikke er noget, der er værd at se på plejer jeg,

                    at trykke på den, og det fortsætter med at

                    vise mig, hvad det nu viser mig. Det her er

                    at flyde med strømmen, tænker jeg og minder

                    mig selv om, at det nye ord for gammeldags

                    tv er flow tv.

svalerne

                    kuling fra vest

                    jeg laver en papirhat

                    om til en båd

Noah's 126th egg / Noahs 126nde æg

if we're not

                       in a half-dream my 4 year old granddaughter

                       throws eyeballs the size of watermelons at me.

                       I can see in her face that she's as surprised as

                       I am. They were soft balls when she threw them

                       but they changed in mid air. We agree that I

                       should change dream-track. This one isn't funny.

                       She says she'll step into one of her mother's dreams.

                       Sounds good, I say. See you.

nature

                       then I'm awoken by a stonemason fitting cobblestones

                       into one another. The sound of metal hammering

                       against stone silences even the eager blackbird in the

                       solitary tree by the church.

                       I don't know what kind of tree it is.

what

r

we

                      summer cold

                      for a while the world

                      is made of Kleenex

hvis vi ikke

                     i en halvdrøm kaster mit 4-årige barnebarn

                     øjenæbler på størrelse med vandmeloner

                     efter mig. Jeg kan se på hendes ansigtsudtryk,

                     at hun er lige så overrasket, som jeg er. De

                     var bløde bolde, da hun kastede dem, men

                     de forandrede sig undervejs. Vi bliver enige om,

                     at jeg skal skifte drømmespor. Det her er ikke

                     morsomt. Hun siger, at hun vil gå ind i én af sin

                     mors drømme.

                     Det lyder som en god ide, siger jeg. Vi ses.

er natur

                     derefter bliver jeg vækket af en stenhugger, der

                     tilpasser brosten. Lyden af metal, der hamrer mod

                     sten, får selv den ihærdige solsort i det enlige træ

                     ved kirken til at tie stille.

                     Jeg aner ikke, hvilken slags træ det er.

hvad

r

vi

så

                     sommerforkølelse

                     for en tid er verden

                     lavet af Kleenex

Noah's 125th egg / Noahs 125nde æg

midsummer

                      his eyes and faces

                      hands and legs

                      are everywhere

and still

the clouds

                      and he hears

                      a room

are white

                      buzzing in a mosquito

midsommer

                     hans øjne og ansigter

                     hænder og ben

                     er overalt

og skyerne

er stadig

                     og han hører

                     et værelse

hvide

                     summe i en myg

Everywhere are His hands and legs, His eyes and faces, and He hears everything. In this way the Supersoul exists.

Bhagavad Gita, Chapter - 13, Text 14Chapter - 13, Text 14

Noah's 124th egg / Noahs 124nde æg

Noah's 123rd fundamentalist egg / Noahs 123nde fundamentalistiske æg

Fundamentalist

throwing

planks

                     he said he was glad he was a

                     fundamentalist. I knew what

                     he meant, but I suggested he

                     was merely moving from one

                     prison to another. by converting.

                     The prison really being himself.

                     He just changed the framework, the

                     ism, to justify his lacking social

                     skills, his low self-esteem and

                     his awkwardness around women.

                     He got off the train by the first

                     station after that.

                     I can be very unkind.

unscaffolding

                     the following Sunday he was

                     back in church on the same

                     spot licking up every word

                     the priest spoke, mimicking

                     his movements, his facial expressions,

                     trying to use Greek and Russian

                     terms for things that could be said in

                     his native Danish tongue.

the scaffold

                     silent bird

                     this lead hat comes

                     with matching boots

smider

brædder

                     hans sagde, at han var glad for

                     at være fundamentalist. Jeg ved,

                     hvad han mener, men jeg antyder,

                     at han blot flyttede fra et fængsel

                     til et andet ved at konvertere.

                     Fængslet er i virkeligheden ham selv.

                     Han skiftede blot rammerne ud, ismen,

                     for at retfærdiggøre sine manglende

                     sociale færdigheder, sit lave selvværd,

                     hans kejtethed med hensyn til kvinder.

                     Han stod af toget ved den første station

                     efter det.

                     Jeg kan være ret ubehagelig.

afstilladserer

                     søndagen efter var han tilbage

                     i kirken på den samme plads. Han

                     labbede præstens ord i sig og efterlignede

                     hans bevægelser, hans ansigtsudtryk.

                     Han afprøvede de græske og russiske

                     termer for ting, han sagtens kunne siges

                     på sit danske modersmål.

stilladset

                     stille fugl

                     denne blyhat kommer

                     med matchende støvler

Noah's 122nd enlightened egg / Noah's 122nde oplyste æg

as is well

                          ”well, maybe in another life”

the swallows

do what they can

                           ”sorry, pal, I don't think

                             I need to reincarnate”

to repair

the sky's

weave

                             sultry heat

                             we share an ice-tea

                             on Buddha Bar

alt er godt

                           ”mh, måske i et andet liv”

svalerne gør

hvad de kan

                          ”undskyld, kammerat, jeg tror ikke

                            jeg behøver at reinkarnere”

for at reparere

himlens

vævning

                           lummerhede

                           vi deler en iste

                           på Buddha Bar

Noah's 121st egg / Noahs 121nde æg

”Then I'll be

your Mr. Perkins”

                            crossing the ceiling

”Who is Mr. Perkins?”

                            the spider avoids

and then

the movie

ends

                            the crushed spider

”Så vil jeg være

din Mr. Perkins”

                           krydser loftet

”Hvem er Mr. Perkins?”

                           edderkoppen undgår

og så

slutter

filmen

                           den maste

                           edderkop

Noah's 120th egg / Noahs 120nde æg

vocalizing

                      ”Hey man, you lost your wings”

the raven

sounds

like

                      ”Not really, had to sell them.

                       An angel's gotta eat.”

the rising

sun

                       lemon butterfly

                       no one knows you

                       when you're down

                       and out

vokalisation

                     ”Hej mand, du har tabt dine vinger”

ravnen

lyder som

                     ”Næh, jeg blev nødt til at sælge dem.

                      En engel må ha' brød på bordet”

den opgående

sol

                     citronsommerfugl

                     ingen vil kendes ved dig

                     når du er på røven

Noah's 119th egg / Noahs 119nde æg

just

about

enough

                         now the homeless woman has been forced

                         to relocate. Her patch is dug up, men are

                         cutting op big granite blocks into something

                         I suppose will be part of the new look of

                         the place. She has moved all her stuff across

                         the street and is now camping on the pavement.

                         It's a wide pavement. She isn't in the way. But

                         I'm sure someone will make a fuzz. There are still

                         folks about (mostly newcomers) who think the

                         inner city can be as well ordered as the posh suburbs.

a world

centre

                         She made a web-site. On a piece of cardboard

                         she has written the URL and placed it for everyone

                         to see and she wears a knitted bonnet despite the 

                         summer-like heat. I haven't yet visited her site.

of vanilla

ice cream

                         petrochemical rainbow

                         I ride a turtle back

                         into the dream-time

***

lige

næsten

nok

                         nu har den hjemløse kvinde været nødt

                         til at finde et andet sted. Hendes plads er

                         gravet op, mænd skærer i kæmpe granitblokke

                         for at fremstille et eller andet, som tilsyneladende

                         skal være en del af pladsens nye look. Hun flyttede

                         alt sit habengut over på den anden side af gaden

                         og har nu slået lejr på fortovet. Det er et bredt

                         fortov, så hun sidder ikke i vejen, men der er nok

                         nogen, der skal finde på at brokke sig. Der er stadig

                         folk heromkring (mest tilflyttere), der tror at den

                         indre by kan være ligeså velordnet som de fine

                         forstæder.

et

verdens

center

                         hun har lavet en hjemmeside. På et stykke pap

                         har hun skrevet URL'en og har hængt det, hvor alle

                         kan se det. Hun har en strikket hue på trods

                         de sommerlige temperaturer. Jeg har

                         ikke besøgt hendes side.

.

af vaniljeis

                        petrokemisk regnbue

                        på en skildpadde rider  jeg tilbage

                        ind i drømmetiden

Noah's 118th egg / Noahs 118nde æg

defying

the lying

bumblebees

                     other than this darkness

enough

to

                   (and it doesn't matter

                    whose hands done it)

get up

                   a clay pot

                   tossed among

                   clay pots

trodser

humlebiernes

løgne

                    bortset fra mørket

nok

til at

                   (det er ligegyldigt

                    hvilke hænder der skabte det)

stå op

                    en lerpotte

                    smidt mellem

                    lerkrukker

Noah's 117th slightly off egg / Noahs 117de lettere rådne æg

I give up

                     It started early, that there

                     ”not being impressed by appearances”

                     thing. In my early teens I saw cheap

                     plastic, painted plywood, wires and

                     tents, greedy merchant out to sell me

                     the least quality for as much money

                     as possible. Where others saw the amusement

                     park. I saw the amusement park as well

                     but it was a mirage luring us into a phoney

                     world of supposed fun; it was sort of a shimmering

                     layer trying to cover up the ugly truth. If painted

                     plywood and cheap plastic is ugly.

counting

the leaves

                     When I grew older I liked going

                     to those places off season to take photos.

                     Or before opening hours when ”the rat

                     was dressing itself up to be king” … or

                     something like that.

in the window

frame

                     Desafinado

                     a blue bossa slips

                     from Maya's mouth

“Desafinado”, a bossa nova by Joao Gilberto,

Desafinado means “out of tune”, “off key”

Maya: the veil of illusion making us think that the material world Is real.

*-*-*

jeg

opgiver

                  Det startede tidligt, det dér med

                 ”ikke at være imponeret af fremtoningen”-

                  tingen. I mine tidlige teenageår så jeg

                  billig plastik, malet masonit, ledninger

                  og telte, grådige købmænd, der ville sælge

                  mig det billigste så dyrt, de kunne. Hvor andre så

                  en forlystelsespark. Jeg så også forlystelsesparken,

                  men det var en luftspejling, der lokkede os

                  ind i en falsk verden af tilsyneladende morskab;

                  var ligesom en flimrede hinde, der forsøgte

                  at dække over den grimme sandhed. Hvis

                  malet masonit og plastik er grimt.

at tælle

bladene

                  Da jeg blev lidt ældre yndede jeg at besøge

                  de steder udenfor sæsonen for at fotografere.

                  Eller før åbningstid mens ”rotten iklædte sig

                  en konges klæder” … noget i den retning.

I vindues

rammen

                  Desafinado

                  en blå bossa undslipper

                  Mayas mund

“Desafinado” er en bossanova af Joao Gilberto,

“Desafinado” betyder “en smule falsk”, “lidt ved sinden af”

Maya: illusionens slør, der prøver at bilde os ind

at den fysiske verden er virkelig

Noah's 116th egg / Noahs 116nde æg

nicely restored
	Went to the station carrying 15 kilos of laundry, only to discover that the trains run on a holiday schedule. That meant waiting for 50 minutes. Which I didn't. Mañana. It's Constitution Day and everyone has a day off. Except the folks at the supermarket. This time of year a lot the summer cottages are being moved into for the season. That means that a lot of fridges and freezers need to be refilled and a lot wine and beer to go with the BBQ dinners about to make the air unbreathable.
and colourful
	Behind the lilacs at the sheltered housing home a few hundred meters away someone is singing like they think pop or rock stars sing. That kind of half shouting that sounds better in a recording studio. It sounds like murder with a refrain. Booze and brain damages doesn't go well together.
the mayhem at Doomsday
	“Fly Me to the Moon” going down in the elevator
pænt istandsat
	Tog til stationen med 15 kilo vasketøj blot for at opdage, at at toget kørte efter køreplanen for helligdage. Det betød, at jeg skulle vente 50 minutters. Det gjorde jeg ikke. Mañana. Det er Grundlovsdag og alle har fri. Bortset fra dem, der arbejder i supermarkedet. På denne tid af året starter sommerhussæsonen. Det betyder, at der er en masse køleskabe og frysere, der skal fyldes op samt en masse øl og vin til at drikke ved grill'ene, der snart vil forpeste luften.
og farverig
	Fra den anden side af syrenerne, fra de beskyttede boliger et par hundrede meter væk, er der nogen, der forsøger at synge, som de tror en rock- eller popstjerne synger. Sådan halvt skrigende. Det lyder nok bedre i et studie, sådan noget. Det lyder som et mord med omkvæd. Sprut og hjerneskader passer ikke godt sammen.
Dommedags ødelæggelser
	”Fly Me to the Moon” jeg kører ned i elevatoren

Noah's 115th egg (still dirty) / Noahs 115nde æg (stadig beskidt)

behind

the super

                   well, I meant to go washing today.

                   Yesterday I did the same but never

                   got that far. I guess the Universe

                   wants me to stay smelly or stay in.

                   Whatever the reason, a man in a tractor

                   got rammed by the train and now

                   all traffic is down. Tomorrow,

                   tomorrow, there's always tomorrow,

                   and I still have plenty of incense, patchouli

                   and fragrant oils.

I kick up

the Blues

                   In stead I phone the doctor for some

                   sleeping pills and painkillers. I haven't

                   slept for a week except for the odd

                   hour or so filled with exhausting dreams

                   about not being able to get the crushed

                   fenugreek seeds that I want.

                   Something to think about. If I had the

                   energy.

in a patch

of clover

                   bright nights

                   (for as long it lasts)

                   Cronos eats another one

                   of my darlings

bag

super

markedet

                   jeg havde planer om, at tage på

                   vaskeri i dag. Det havde jeg også

                   i går, men kom ikke så langt. Måske

                   synes universet, at jeg skal blive

                   ved med at lugte eller forblive hjemme.

                   Uanset grunden torpederede toget

                   en mand i en traktor og al trafik er

                   indstillet. I morgen er der atter en dag;

                   der er altid i morgen, og jeg har masser

                   af røgelse, patchouli og æteriske

                   olier.

sparker jeg

til melankoliens

blå fugl

                   i stedet bestiller jeg sovepiller og

                   smertestillere hos lægen. Jeg har

                   næsten ikke sovet i en uge bortset

                   fra en times tid indimellem, med udmattende

                   drømme om ikke at kunne få fat i

                   de knuste bukkehornsfrø, jeg ville

                   have.

                   Noget af tænke over; hvis jeg havde

                   energien.

i en

kløverplet

                   lyse nætter

                  (sålænge det varer)

                   Kronos spiser endnu een

                   af mine yndlinge