Monday, 28 November 2016

Wednesday, 23 November 2016

Monday, 21 November 2016

A poem by the Norwegian Olav Bull


A struck-through poem

Caged-in a shoddy poem
from bars of strokes peers out.
Honest enough a fellow,
though hardly round and mellow
with song and tuneful clout.

Spawned by a skinny mother
a wizened brain its womb,
mere scraps of thought the fodder
that brain cells had on offer,
in meagre hours consumed – –.

And reason’s fearful migraines
the poem’s body rack –
by fever now prostrated
cracked lips reel off unsated
their ugly tuneless track.

Its bars of strokes it rattles,
its cruel cage it would force; –
it is my direst captive
though songs well-formed, attractive
through my whole being course.




zkv27





Sunday, 20 November 2016

Anna Maria Lenngren at her pithy best



Till fru ***, som är rädd för ormbett

Ni anser ormbett som en fara –
Men om ett sådant djur er stack,
Så kan ni säker derpå vara
Att ormen straxt af etter sprack.


For Mrs ***, who is afraid of snakebites

A snakebite you regard as frightening –
If such a creature did its worst,
You can, though, rest assured like lightning
The snake from venom then would burst.



Friday, 18 November 2016

Thursday, 17 November 2016

Monday, 14 November 2016

Tuesday, 8 November 2016

Saturday, 5 November 2016

Wednesday, 2 November 2016

Tuesday, 1 November 2016

zkv16


Bloem - November

NOVEMBER

It’s raining and it is November:
Autumn lays siege now to the heart
That sadly, though more wont than ever,
Endures its secret pains apart.

And in the room, where resignation
Sees daily life pass as it may,
From streets that speak of desolation
A bleak light falls at close of day.

The years pass by but never alter,
The difference will soon be gone
Between dim memories that falter
And what is lived and is to come.

Lost are the ways I knew of gaining
Release from time in earlier days;
Always November, always raining,
Always this empty heart, always.