Thursday 18 August 2011

A poem from my PA cycle, referred to on other occasions



THE HENRY MOORE

the seated fluid bronze statue
with concave upper body
curling sideways from its base
to broad armless shoulders
topped by a small molten head
with shallow incisions only
marking its facial features
stared out across the lawn

pa stood at a wary distance
pipe-first
he eyed
this already verdigrised
and shat-on masterpiece
craning his neck at a similar angle
to face the pin-head opposite
the folds in his neck
now matching those of his jacket

‘thank goodness it’s not got
a hole for a stomach’
pa said
‘better than twelve-tone music, pa’
i replied
‘more like max reger’

no answer from pa but
his bird-head cocked
he listened as he looked



HENRY MOORE STATUEN

den siddende statue af flydende bronze
med konkav overkrop
der buede sidelæns fra sin sokkel
op mod brede skuldre uden arme
kronet af et lille smeltet hoved
hvor kun overfladiske indsnit
markede dets ansigtstræk
stirrede ud over græsplanen

pa stod på sikker afstand
med piben forrest
betragtede han
dette forlængst irrede
og nedskidte mesterværk
strækkende halsen i en lignende vinkel
for at se knappenålshovedet i øjnene
med folder i nakkeskindet
modsvarende dem i jakken

‘gudskelov har den ikke noget hul
i stedet for en mave’
sagde pa
‘bedre end tolvtonemusik, pa’
svarede jeg
‘ligner mere max reger’

ikke noget svar fra pa men
med fuglehovedet på skrå
lyttede han mens han kiggede

(Danish translation mine, in collaboration with Klaus Høeck)

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