Svante No. 7 song

THE SEASONS (in the final version)

Washing can flap while its drying.

Young kids get spots that are trying.

Girls must take teasing

and football’s unceasing

for now it is summer in Denmark.

Days now seem shorter and gloomy.

Schoolkids unruly and rheumy.

Clothes get outdated

tears flow unabated

for now it is autumn in Denmark.

Deaths. New divorces. Long novels.

Plans in cold storage and snuffles.

Noses start dripping

and schnozzles start dipping

for now it is winter in Denmark.

Flowers bloom in meadows or vases.

Beating of mats all surpasses.

Paths are regravelled

and poems unravelled

for now it is springtime in Denmark.

Svante No. 6 song

THE SEASONS, first version

Flowers bloom in meadows or vases.

Beating of mats all surpasses.

Paths are regravelled

and poems unravelled

for now it is springtime in Denmark.

Washing can flap while its drying.

Young kids get spots that are trying.

Girls must take teasing

and football’s unceasing

for now it is summer in Denmark.

Days now seem shorter and gloomy.

Schoolkids unruly and rheumy.

Clothes get outdated

tears flow unabated

for now it is autumn in Denmark.

Deaths. New divorces. Long novels.

Plans in cold storage and snuffles.

Noses start dripping

and schnozzles start dipping
for now it is winter in Denmark.

Svante No. 5 Song

LONGING FOR SWEDEN

I stand here and gaze at the Swedish coast

and long for its mountains and skerries.

My heart is jumpy, it flutters almost,

wants to be on the first of the ferries

                      to banish all that pains me

                      let birchtree groves sustain me

                      where smiling girls endear...

                      but I am stuck right here

                                                   if not I’ll end up sea-sick.

It feels just like seeing the far promised land

all flowing with milk and with money,

where life the ragings of time can withstand

and where Bellman’s songs are like honey

                      where lingon sprigs assorted

                      in birchtree groves are sported

                      but I am stuck right here

                      a quayside overseer

                                                  if not I’ll end up sea-sick.

I stand in a country neurotic and small

where people are smiling and crazy.

The Swedes do a great deal we can’t do at all,

they’re so neutral and not ’cos they’re lazy

                      and their sound limbs displaying

                      in birchtree groves are playing

                      they’re brimful of ideas

                      while I just fade out here

                                                    if not I’ll end up sea-sick.

My ashes shall sail back to Sweden’s land

be scattered in every direction

so I’ll be transported from strand to strand

and maybe at last find perfection

                      where roots can thrive and flourish

                      in birchtree groves that nourish

                      but till that day is near

                      I guess I’m stuck right here

                                                   if not I’ll end up sea-sick.

Svante No. 4 song

SVANTE IN PARADISE

Whitethorn in view.

Kids play on cue.

Wall washed in sun.

Summer’s begun.

Peace chirping high.

Clouds drifting by.

Glass of iced port.

Paper’s been bought.

Apples in bowl.

Prawns by the shoal.

Lilac’s scent-kegs.

Lithe Eve-like legs.

Languishing smiles.

Topless textiles.

No traffic storm.

Music that’s warm.

Cuckoos say cluck.

Bottles say glug.

Leaves thick and groomed.

Prawns all consumed.

All this fresh air.

Heart debonair.

Bottle – all gone.

Eve says: Come on!...

       I’m here in the Garden of Eden

       But my belly’s been overfeedin’.

Svante No. 3 song

SVANTE IN THE DEPARTMENT STORE

Often in shops of a quite normal size

Terror and panic I cannot disguise.

But when a department store’s doors I pass through

my self-discipline is put under the screw.

Here there’s too much, it’s all here by default,

from fine grand pianos to coarsest sea salt.

I came here for something I had to procure,

but what it was I’m completely unsure.

Soon all the goods start to swim past my eyes.

Both my ears roar. And my tongue changes size.

I point at things blindly before all goes black.

Pay up and frantically hurry off back.

Off to a pub where two beers and three snaps

save me from what would be instant collapse.

Then home to unpack what’s now in my string bag

though gooseflesh is all I can call my swag.

Never a thing I can put to some use.

Strange home utensils distinctly abstruse.

What shall I do with shoes too small by far,

a fine silver rattle and small-chequered bra?

Among the absurd things I now catalogue:

one warm dog’s blanket, but minus the dog.

A garden hose, but no flower bed in sight.

I wonder if this will go on all night –

Help! Give me strength! I am tempted anew

to the store’s bargain sale’s hullabaloo;

I waver and quaver and buy like a fool

a kennel, a topee – a whole swimming pool...

This is my evidence poignant and clear:

Wonderful bargains have all cost me dear.

So bind me, watch over me, dull me with wine,
and save me from sales and a total decline!