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)