Amazing sequence from 'Selfies' section of 'Legacy' by Klaus Høeck

       the only oil paint

ing that exists with me as

       a motif lay for

       many years with the

picture surface downwards un

       der an ottoman

       (put in the doghouse)

after all you can’t have your

       self hanging on a

       wall in your own home

monitoring everything

       that is taking place

       my head pops up in

the picture against a sky

       of green chirico

       as a contrast to

the gasometer from øst

       re gasværk where a

       guardian angel

of marble stands guard over

       me there are scratches

       and crackles in the

paint and behind the canvas

       a pulse is beating

       self-portrait with a

mini-pancake pan made of

       copper self-portrait

       with heinz tomato

ketchup self-portrait with lent

       barrel self-portrait

       with elastoplast

self-portrait with papercut

       ting of the derby

       winner patricia

garbo self-portrait with a

       painting of myself

       later the portrait

stood wrapped up in black plas

       tic like a deep and

       profound secret in

a toolshed – it was painted

       by bispelund knud

       sen sometime in the

nineteen seventies and at

       it can now be found

       in the portrait col

lection depot at frede

       riksborg museum

       i place a copy

of myself at the foot of

       a large copper beech

       tree in stingsted sko

ven (there where the former small

       holding still stands) so

       that i can ima

gine to myself that i can

       hear the night wind in

       side my own head as

something different and more

       than just a gimmick

       a second copy

of the same picture i wrap

       up in a piece of

       aluminium

foil along with one of the

       thirty-two heartstones

       and throw it into

the sea at fogense not

       only so that i

       can sleep together

with the fishes – listen – how

       deep is the poem?

       a third copy i

set fire to on the neighbour’s

       garden bonfire u

       nite my likeness with

hawthorn and poplar with smoke

       fire and ashes

       that fly off across

the spring fields in a stunt that

       perhaps asserts the

       very resurrec

tion or the recycling of

       the poem itself

       then all i’m lacking

is earth – but that’s easy e

       nough i dig a coup

       le of spits down in

heartland and then place the fi

       nal copy of the

       portrait (the poem

as a whole in the ground) the

       exact gps coor

       dinates only to

be published at a later

       date (after my death)

       the original

can still be seen but i won’t

       tell you where you’ll have

       to find it for your

self if you’ve the time and in

       clination as with

       all poetry but

the code word’s: köpenhamn and

       the year seventy

       eight where i look up

at you with an inscruta

       ble gaze from the dark