At the station I take shelter from the rain in the thrashed shed. Two boys around the age of 14 sit there laughing. They're dressed for winter in a way that suggest that they're not quite grown-ups in their mothers' eyes and maybe not fully aware of – or weighed down by – the dictates of fashion. As they're passing jokes and puns about killer-whales I can't help myself, but join in; or interrupt, actually. We agree that it might be better to freeze to death in the cold water rather than being chewed up. I'm not sure how, but we end up with wondering about what hedgehogs in microwave ovens would be like. Some cruel form of a nail-bomb? It's really boys' imaginations let loose and I don't feel out of place though 40 years older than them. I just enjoy laughing and fooling around after 4 weeks of being locked up with a mean virus.
after coughing a sudden hole in the December clouds
A girl and with an older boy – a young man, rather – join the two boys. They make room for the newcomers on the remnants of the bench. They obviously goes to the same school and the girl is in the same class as the boys though she looks somewhat older. Girls tend to do that in that age. Her hair is dyed, make-up is heavy, a cloud of tacky perfume surrounds her and she is fashionably dressed. The older boy lets her sit in his lap. The boyish boys suddenly get less boyish and more embarrassed as if they try to mature in a matter of seconds. They sit on needles and their winter pale faces - acne and all – takes on a faint red color. No more giggles or killer-whales and I take another mint-drop while they talk about someone in their class. The rails lit up before the train comes around the bend.
I seek shelter from the rain in the waiting booth at the station. It has a roof but the sides are partly penetrable and the rain is freezing cold. 12 minutes till the train comes and leaves again. It's the end of a very long and winding track. Two young girls occupies the bench and giggle. They talk about boys and what go give them for Christmas. I stop myself before I suggest: hedgehogs. They wouldn't get it anyway. They decide on articles that were not very boyish in my time, skin-cleaning stuff and perfume. Maybe they hope their boyfriends would smell better and have less acne. What do I know.
An elderly man looking feeble but cocky drags a can of strong beer from his plastic bag. He may have been a gentleman or a womanizer in his days, but now … He glances secretly and repeatedly at the young girls and I have no trouble imagining what he is thinking. As we walk to the train he makes some sort of a pirouette to get a good look at two other girls' asses almost loosing his balance. This was probably his last chance. The dusk has ended.
still no frost
something forgotten sprouts
in the gravel
As a child I had speculations about how Cosmos really was constructed. I pictured myself and the World as living on a very big person, who in turn lived on an even bigger person along with his family and world and this contruction went on and on. I never thought of it having and end. Curiously enough all these enormous persons were pale green, and we lived on his left big toe.
in Moby Dick
a sqashed fly
Da jeg var barn røg jeg ud i overvejelser om, hvordan Kosmos virkelig var indrettet. Jeg så mig selv og verdenen befinde sig på et meget stort menneske, som igen befandt sig på en endnu større person samen med sin familie og verden, og den konstruktion blev ved og ved. Jeg forestillede mig aldrig, at det havde en ende. Underligt nok var alle disse enorme mennesker lysegrønne, og vi levede på hans venstre storetå.
I would hide my smokes in a hole in the side of the terrazzo staircase.
I keep fluxing between my different ages. Maybe time up until the present is fluid. For years I've never been older than 32. Or something.
I keep writing in another language. The one I was surrounded by when I finally bothered making sounds.
These are my hands. They have hold a gazillion things from toy cars to babies, breasts and keys. How well they remember.
I never made money having an opinion.
When she was younger my mother was a girl. My father saw her. She wasn't allowed to cast her shadow anywhere outside without her father's say so.
You were younger. So was I. We cast shadows. But not when we sleep.
Fame is the name of a bug-eaten mud-tiger. Tantalizing.
What really goes on nobody know, but it's started and we can't do nothing; even that is an action. Me and a pal mimed to all his Beatles singles on badminton racket guitars.
There must be life beyond the three chords.
First guitar and totally lost. Second guitar and totally swallowed.
My granddad was everywhere I looked. Smiling and not smiling.
I just hid, or, I just hit. Whatever.
Now I can imagine what mum and dad felt like when I arrived. And I remember my sister's arrival. It snowed a lot that evening.
Memory is biological or reverse: biology has a memory. At birthdays there's cakes and buns with raisins for those who like it.
Presence is not an unambiguous thing or a double negative.
Order is temporary. It's in the order of things. Disorder is a human concept. It has to do with our limited capacity to see the whole – or the hole. What our meager instruments – maths and models – can't grasp we call chaos – or darkness. In short.
These days daylight is sparse. I'm overall on good terms with my feet.
(Could there be a mythology where the World was something barfed up by a giant beast?)
The tic-toc of the cheep walk clock … should really throw that one out. Its loud sound makes time goes slower. Or so it seems. There's a certain grandmother-feel about it but in a sad way. It doesn't evoke strawberry flavored memories, but those of loneliness, loss and having nothing more to hope for than days without illness. I often visited my maternal grandmother after grandfather died. She was a tiny woman with very bad eyesight – practically blind. And her loneliness, of which she never spoke, of course, filled her rooms with something I only gradually came to recognize. You can't take sorrow, loneliness and longing for the past away from people if that is all they have left; and you can't compensate for what they've lost. Remembering her face I can see how slow time passed for her those last years.
This supposedly had to happen. I pulled out some plugs and started revising haiku from the past seven months. What a triumph for the over-ego, the ego that says: get serious, constructive, ordered and whatever label it uses to get me doing something like this, which is largely against my go-with-the-flow-of-intuition nature. But I started it so I will have to go through with it. Though, I tricked myself into taking it one part at a time. It's only the folder named “gendai haiku” I'm revising. Otherwise I couldn't drag myself into this project. I take a break, dance a little to a song on the radio by The Raveonettes and open a couple of windows to get in some O2.
at some point this mirror
I step out on the landing to check the feel of the weather – or what you would call this second week stand-still of mist and no wind or sun. On my left the sound of a flock of rooks probably “rooking” around the church tower, on my right the juvenile remarks of sanitation people working. Always something to do at the inn. I can still blow smoke rings.
lighting a candle by a dying flame I'm told it's a full moon
Sun up at 7:44 and down again 16:36. Moon down up at 14:22 and down again close to 1 in the morning. Just around when the street lamp outside my bedroom window. On top of that it's the 5th day of mist. This darkness doesn't please me, and whenever November starts to really devour daylight, I think of my great-great and many times great grandfather. He was a Spanish mercenary with Napoleon's army and got stationed in this land of mud and darkness. He remained here after the war and must have met a girl. There's no other way to procreate, that I know of. Not one that extends the blood-line anyway. And I think: “Why on Earth would he choose this country and this climate when he could have stayed in Spain?” I obviously don't get an answer, but pictures of hunger, prisoner of war camps, abandonment and persecution, poverty and the impossibility of getting all the way back to Spain from Denmark some 200 years ago flash by just above the surface of lukewarm coffee. Nothing to do but wonder and make a fresh pot.
I thought I had been sucked into the past. That sort of thing happens from time to time. I sat on the train on the way to the big city – well, as big as they come in Denmark – when a hippie-looking guy boarded with his monstrous Big Dane dog. My thoughts went in two directions. I thought: now, there's a weirdo, knowing very well that in this part of the country many “off-siders” have found a cheap place to live as it's rather poor. And I thought: great!!! Nice to see a flash of the past, and my nose replayed all kinds of smells associated with the early -70's. Patchouli, sandalwood, fenugreek, hashish and wet and dirty “Afghan” fur coats, which was a bit of a turn-off, that last part. After having put his corn-pipe away he sat himself down in a very upright position: straight back, both feet on the floor and looking us, the other travellers, straight in the eyes. I nodded. He nodded. Dog said nowt. Then he padded the seat at his left side (he'd taken the window seat) and the dog, big as half a horse, jumped up and sat perfectly cool beside him, straight as a statue. The dog had a colourful tie as leash. We bumped on while I was listening to Incredible String Band.
As the Earth turns - and I'm told it does - a feeble light crawls over the roof of the inn. Still haven't wept a slink … slept a wink and it's getting tiresome, I hope. I notice a magpie on that roof and decide that it's from there the house beneath it came. Why not? Like some sort of egg that'll hatch Christmas and Bingo parties, lame C&W parties with pale quaint Danes doing line dance. Not quite satisfied with the order of things ”in the World” (said in grimacing way with that expression 54 years old adolescent present when they forget they're … 54).
I decide that the bird came before the house.
November mist the chair is as solid as usual
Idet Jorden drejer - nogen har sagt, at den gør det – kryber et spinkelt lys over kroens tag. Har endnu ikke løjet et uk … lukket et øje, og det er ved at være ret trættende, håber jeg. Jeg får øje på en skade på taget og og beslutter mig for, at det er derfra, huset under den kom. Hvorfor ikke? Som en slags æg, der snart skal klækkes til julefrokoster og Bingofester, smagløse C&W fester med blege kejtede danskere, der danser line dance. Jeg er ikke helt tilfreds med den rækkefølge, der gælder ”i Verden” (sagt med et vrængende udtryk, som passer sig til en 54-årig pubertær, når de glemmer, at de er … 54)
Morning visitor: the mother cat from down-stairs jumps in through my window. She must have been out all night. I really don't mind. She's a tidy but very shy and nervous cat with a double mind – tied to the house and out and about. Her folks took her in 2 or 3 years ago when she had had kittens in an a car wreck – their own car wreck. Now she and two kittens from that bunch live there. This spring she had 3 new kittens, 2 survived and one has found a new home. The male cat from the first litter is very attention-seeking, very cuddly and cool as cucumber around the other cats. He's the center of the world, daring and curls up in my lap falling a sleep after having put his claws in my thigh the moment he gets inside. Whenever he's outside and hear me open the door, he comes running from where ever he is. Luckily without mice or birds in his mouth. If the weather allows I let my front door stay open for those of the cats that didn't get inside when their people left for work. They eat and sleep a while and charges off again. That's it.
Will have to think up another way of doing things when winter comes.
lingering mist for 5 minutes I don't have to know everything
Morgengæst. Moder-katten, der bor nedenunder, hopper ind gennem vinduet. Hun må have været ude hele natten. Det gør mig ikke noget. Hun er en ordentlig, renlig men noget sky og nervøs kat med et dobbelt sind – hun er knyttet til hjemmet men skal altså også rende omkring. Underboerne to hende ind for 2 eller 3 år siden da hun fik killinger I et bilvrag – deres eget bilvrag. Nu bor hun der med to af killingerne. Dette forår fik hun 3 nye killinger, og 2 af dem overlevede - én af dem fik et nyt hjem. Hankatten fra det første kuld er meget opmærksomhedskrævende, enormt kælen og ekstremt cool overfor de andre katte. Han er verdens centrum og ruller sig sammen og falder i søvn i mit skød – efter først at have stukket kløerne i mit lår – så snart han er indenfor. Når han er ude og hører, at jeg åbner døren, kommer han springende fra, hvor det nu er, han befinder sig. Heldigvis uden mus eller fugle i munden. Hvis vejret tillader det, lader jeg min hoveddør stå åben for de af kattene, der ikke nåede – eller ville – komme ind, før deres mennesker tog på arbejde. De spiser og sover lidt, inden de stikker af igen. Det er dét.
Må finde på en anden måde at gøre det på, når det bliver vinter.
tågen hænger i 5 minutter behøver jeg ikke vide alting
October and a few gulls seem like they're cut out of the low hanging clouds. What feast for the eye to see a few crows and ravens making their way to where ever they go. Even if it's only from one tree to another. In October they often remind me of an imagined medieval scenery. Cloaked knights on big horses riding to or back from a gruesome deed. De Sammensvorne rider fra Finderup Lade efter mordet på Erik Klipping i 1286 / The Conspirators rides away from the barn at Finderup after the murder of Erik Klipping in 1286. A sad excuse for daylight comes through the windows as if it couldn't care less. On days like these I check my pulse, my birth date against the date on various electronic calendars and the news and usually conclude I'm alive. I step out a bit to feel the weather and assure myself it's there. No more no less.
Cold. I put on two pair of socks rather than turn on the heat. Too expensive. The electric heaters eat a lot power and the firewood hasn't arrived yet. I pick up on the distant sirens of an ambulance. Well, I guess it's an ambulance as I can't see the road from here … or any road for that matter. Assume it's for the mixed nursing home some two hundred meters from here, and a hundred from the church. I crush a couple of pain killers with a spoon and pour the powder in a glass which I fill with aqua frizzante. Somehow I prefer that. Could buy effervescent tablets but I'm too lazy these days to go the pharmacy (another town). And leaf by leaf my view to the church is restored to its winter-edition.
back and forth between nothings in a state of flesh with a name
Koldt. Jeg tager to par sokker på i stedet for at tænde for varmen. For dyrt. De elektriske radiatorer æder for meget strøm og brændet er kommet endnu. Jeg opfanger sirenen fra en fjern ambulance. Jeg gætter på, at det er en ambulance; jeg kan ikke se vejen herfra ... eller nogen vej i det hele taget. Jeg antager, at den er til den blandede institution, der ligger et par hundrede meter herfra og hundrede meter fra kirken. Jeg knuser et par Kodimagnyl med en ske og hælder pulveret i et glas, som jeg igen fylder med aqua frizzante. Af en eller anden grund er det sådan, jeg foretrækker det. Kunne købe brusetabletter, men gider ikke tage til apoteket (en anden by). Blad efter blad bliver min udsigt til kirken ført tilbage til sin vinterudgave.
frem og tilbage mellem intetheder i en tilstand af kød med et navn
(rekindling the man in the jar. copyright J. S. H. Bjerg 2011)
first haibun ever
Catching up or catching a cold
Me and steadiness, how much more incompatible can it get. I know that – and those who know me know that. Always on the way to something new to explore even if it seems only a microscopic move within a box they don't understand anyway. I could call it versatility to make it sound better – and I do. So this is how it is: just before sleep, which I don't seem to get much of these days anyway, an idea pops up, one I should act upon. Or I could think: “If the idea is good enough it'll be there in the morning as well”. Ha! I get up in the middle of the night and start “acting”. As long as it's winter I don't feel possessed because I can get to bed again before sunrise. In summer sunrise is upon me – well, us – before I actually got to bed. Sunrise is the worst when I'm sleepless.
dry skin the quantum field still not harvested
Some belated 3ournals from October - undated
For the first time an Oxford crime story in winter. A set of dictionaries on sale with pages actually sticking. I find ”brusque”.
Flu vaccination at the retirement home – I feel young-ish. The cat and his sister visits, she is ho shy, he's not. Bitterly cold.
A day of things dropping, but the sun remains in place. Cat wants attention and tries to climb me like a tree. All these subs!!!
”A full breakfast or a continental?” the language of the Empire dies only slowly. Cat falls asleep on it't back. I'm immobilized.
Scrubbing the firewood covers - spider's nests all over. The cats are having a grand time. Luckily the sun seems inexhaustible.
“U” - fall is my season for Incredible String Band. 1 moving-box of firewood left – I'm partly of Viking breed (brrr). Sun is o.k.
1. Dalziel & Pascoe form the time the world came in 4:3. Händel's Partenope, well, only act 1. Came upon a theme for Prune Juice.
There's def a diff between haiku & poetry! The next one with ”dreamer” in their bio gets blocked. I'm pissed off w/o knowing y
Another ”can't wake up properly” day. Listening to the radio I'm bored w the lack of sincerity in the ”new” music. Repetitions galore.
Old Star Trek episode. I've figured it out: it's the camera that shakes when the Enterprise is hit by laser canons. How good these actors were to tumble first in one direction and then another when the camera was tipped. And you can't see the strings holding the space ships in place. Did they have an in-turn to stop them from dangling? Space is mysterious. A Klingon with a butter knife becomes dizzy by looking at an impressionest painting. Thank G for stereotypes. And an anti-dizziness drug called Vertazine.
Gammelt Star Trek afsnit. Jeg har fundet ud af det: det er kameraet, der ryster, når Enterprise bliver ramt af laserkanononer. De der skuespillere var gode til at tumle først den ene vej og så den anden, når kameraet tiltede. Og man kan ikke se snorene, der holder rumskibene på plads. Havde de voluntører til at forhindre dem i at dingle omkring. Rummet er mystisk. En klingon med en smørkniv bliver svimmel ved at kigge på et impressionistisk maleri. G ske tak og lov for stereotyper. Og et anti-svimmelheds medikament ved navn Vertazin.
3ournal is genre or type of fragment invented by Liam Wilkinson. You can read about it here It consists of 3 non-related "happenings" in a day - or part of the day - and is limited to max. 140 characters (Twitter-limit).You can write more than one a day and include "internal" happenings.
I should note that my datings are in Danish sequence: dd/mm/yy
Still not enough sleep at night. ”Night”mares in the daytime nap. Switching on the radio and turning it off again – endlessly.
Utterly dazed by lack of sleep – again. Counting movements that are repetitive. Fail to catch the name of a band on the radio.
At last, a day without rain. For the 100th time I conclude: instant espresso sucks. Do economists actually DO anything in the 3D world?
The light has changed. I zap through endlessly repeated election speaches. Note: get small change for the laundromat.
Trying to do what I planned, but a migraine sets in. A house pops up beneath a crow or ... Cross spiders are really big now.
A wish for numbness. At the super an awful smell of something really synthetic. More notes for a post-migraine state.
A night of chemical sleep, but sleep it was. In town I buy sandalwood incense and herbal teas. The usual schizo sings about the “Worldman”.
“Heaven knows I'm miserable now”. A young girl in next to nothing and a cell phone. Lotuses in the neighbour's fish pond.l
Overly joyous, giddy rather, as in spring. I answer the phone: Danish Giraffe Import. A wedding invite I'm rather doubtful about.
Decent tobacco at last. I giggle over a rerun of 'Allo 'Allo. Remember I forgot to eat yesterday evening - a step forward.
Interview by an Indian e-zine, my shoulders hurt like hell. The nation goes insane in this election campaign. I feel like a rerun.
Not the least self-absorbed: will this rash grow into a rhino? A late wasp dies in the windowsill. Some Finnish song on the radio.
Waking from a chess dream before the check-mate. I postpone the rinsing of pens and brushes. The Northern darkness already lurking.
#3ournal Bhajans, I don't understand a word, but my atoms do. This is a “finding-dead-insects” day. A man with a dog too jumpy to piss.
Learning my grandkids are unhappy I face a day of weariness. Will this rain ever … My forefinger turns white and cold again.
Raynaud syndrome; at least I got something. A white orchid suddenly drops 4 flowers. Amused by the image of sending penguins to USA.
Round and round the laundry goes. It's a guy's thing not to fold the sheets. I talk to stangers as if they were friends. #3ournal
Blue suede shoes at half price – I'll look like a bum, but eh? A patient on leave talks to a lamp post. I watch ”Bleach” 255 -260.
According to the news the world repeats itself every 30 minutes. Two effervescent tablets in water – sscchh! Anything goes.
Thinking of water again, how it never stays in one place or in one form. A package of ayurvedic meds. lovesliescrushing's wall of noise.
Staring at the sky again – it simply must become penetrable eventually. The abuse of Pärt's Alina. Starting a boot-time virus scan.
Running low on stepping stones. Can the void be in more than one place or in any at all? What's left of Katia makes the trees move.
Working on an excuse to drop a wedding I don't understand. Neighbour's cat waiting on my doorstep. Birdfeeder overgrown.
My eyes are too small for this light. Neighbor's cat tries to get in, but he'll piss all over I fear. In a daze from painkillers.
March - the month of Mars, the Roman god of war - comes to an end. April - the month of "opening" the earth - takes over. An ancient Danish name for April is "Sheep-month", the month when sheep and cattle again was let out to grass. Another name was "Grass-month".