Blog Archives - Eilert skriver

The bus-stop at the edge of white

28/12/2023

there's a point where all lines converge
a place where all viewpoints merge
all distances shrinking to naught
the endpoint for all trains of thought

the bus-stop at the edge of white
connecting to all lines of sight
there will be a short delay
your departure is next yesterday

there's a time after all events
a moment for final laments
a time where all waiting will end
for every true former friend

the bus-stop at the edge of white
connecting to all lines of sight
there will be a short delay
your departure is next yesterday

there's a cause behind all effects
and all that your mind detects
a cause for this turbulent mess
a reason for each failed caress

the bus-stop at the edge of white
connecting to all lines of sight
there will be a short delay
your departure is next yesterday

From the song cycle "Next yesterday" with music by Antti Nissilä

The Relentless Banality of Persistent Pain

28/12/2023

it´s not a scream of agony
it´s a whine of discomfort

a barrel organ stuck on a dissonant chord
grit in the ball bearings of the microscope
the scratching doppler pulse
from the blown stereo of a passing car

the hum of the fridge noticed only when it ceases
the grating of ungreased iron hinges

a derailed shelf in a metal filing cabinet
a dislodged exhaust pipe dragged along the pavement
the gnashing of cogwheels in a misaligned gearbox

the thundering whisper of years and years and years

The space between us

28/12/2023

Trusting blindly, we made plans
– wonders we would know,
simply wishing we could see our way
to make them so.
We would travel to the moon
on a silver wing,
as we could accomplish anything.

Weightless are memories
free in the space between us now,
orbiting our dreams of endless bliss.
Weightless are memories
free in the space between us now,
joining in a long and tender kiss.

Half-forgotten words unsaid,
phone calls never made,
Dust from all the scoreboards of the games
we never played,
Promises we never broke
fights we never had,
Nothing from a love that would go bad.

Weightless are memories
lost in the space between us now,
orbiting our dreams of endless bliss.
Weightless are memories
lost in the space between us now,
longing for the final, frozen kiss.

From the song cycle "Next yesterday" with music by Antti Nissilä

Unpoem

28/12/2023

Life unlived
Words unheard
Gifts ungiven
Lessons learned
Thoughts unthought
Sights unseen
Goods unbought
Scenes unreal

Feelings felt
Offers tendered
Cards dealt
Favours rendered
Promises broken
Bridges burned
Words spoken
Cards returned

Gifts unwrapped
Doors unclosed
Hands unclasped
Wills opposed
Lives upended
Accounts unsettled
Lawn untended
Hair dishevelled

Beds unmade
Tables turned
Bills unpaid
Trust unearned
Food uneaten
Restless feet
Tea unsweetened
Whisky neat

Ends unended
Never ending
Never better
Never after

Gå ikke villig

28/12/2023

Gå ikke villig

Gå ikke villig mot ditt livs god natt.
Du skulle brenne vilt i livets kveld.
Rop! Klag! Gjør opprør når ditt lys blir matt.

Selv de som vet at sluttstrek nå er satt,
men aldri hamret ordets gnistregn selv,
går ikke villig mot sitt livs god natt.

De vage sinn, idet de innser at
de kunne øvet stordåd likevel,
gjør også opprør når vårt lys blir matt.

Og han som jaget solen som besatt,
og felte tårer da den tok farvel,
går ikke villig mot sitt livs god natt.

De dystre menn som synet har forlatt,
som kunne eid blind fryd med bedre hell –
de óg gjør opprør når vårt lys blir matt.

Og du, min far, på høyden, trist, forlatt,
Forbann, velsign, meg nå til sist – fortell!
Gå ikke villig mot ditt livs god natt.
Rop! Klag! Gjør opprør når ditt lys blir matt.

Do not go gentle into that good night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light

Dylan Thomas

Stopp klokkene, legg telefonen ned

28/12/2023

Stopp klokkene, legg telefonen ned

Stopp klokkene, legg telefonen ned.
Gi hundene et kjøttbein så de holder fred.
Med myke trommestikker, spill en langsom takt.
La kisten bæres bort i stille prakt.

La seilfly sirkle inn i kveldens glød.
La dem skrive høyt på himlen "Han er død".
Bind sørgebånd rundt halsen på byens duer nå.
Diriger trafikken med svarte hansker på.

Han var mitt nord, mitt syd, mitt øst og vest.
Min hverdag var han, han var min fest,
Min kveld, min morgen, mitt lys, mitt speil.
Jeg trodde kjærlighet var evig, jeg tok feil

Og hvem trenger stjerner nå? Slukk dem hver og én.
Hell havet ut og hugg all skogen ren.
La månen fly avgårde, slipp solskiven fri,
for ingenting kan lenger ha noen verdi.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W H Auden

Wake me

28/12/2023

wake me
breathe on my neck
first slowly
then less slow

wake me
touch naked skin
first gently
then less so

shake me
raise up my pulse
first slightly
then let go

shake me
beat all my blood
pulsating
through my veins

make me
stir dormant limbs
and whip them
into shape

take me
make me a feast
and let me
quench your thirst

soothe me
send me to sleep
and kiss me
then let go

From the song cycle "Next yesterday" with music by Antti Nissilä

Do not marry me

28/12/2023

Do not marry me
But make time for me
If you will
Sometimes
As I will make time for you

Do not set up home with me
My home is my own
As your home is yours
But share my bed
From time to time
As I will share yours
And leave a toothbrush

Do not share my opinions
But challenge them
And question me
All the time
As I will question you
And challenge you
Do share your thoughts
As I will share mine

Do not be the end-all of my life
Do not walk my path
My path is my own
As your path is yours
But walk some distances with me
From time to time
As I will walk with you

Do not raise my kids
My kids are their own
As are yours
But get to know them
As I will get to know yours
You will like them
In time

Do not die with me
When my time comes
My death is my own
But live with me
Sometimes
In the meantime
If you will

Moving house

28/12/2023

moving house
my home slowly reincarnates
inhabited
less haunted

furniture
and pictures
migrate easily

the christmas decorations
pale in the february light
the ghosts of christmases past present

fossilised hiking equipment
to be left behind
communing with nature
was only ever
a monologue
unanswered

tools acquired
over the years
some useful
some deeply mysterious
the 30-piece wood carving set

toys and clothes
releasing their grip

and finally the keys

Verdivokterens vern mot utglidninger og forfall

28/12/2023

hvor mange temperaturer skal de egentlig ha
før de blir fornøyd?
det finnes varmt
og det finnes kaldt
det vet alle
og du kan kjenne på et menneske
om det er varmt
eller kaldt
det er bare å ta på det
pirke litt borti det
løfte opp leppa og kjenne på tannkjøttet
så merker du fort
om det er varmt
eller kaldt

du trenger ingen lunken kompetanse
for å kjenne om noen er varm
eller kald

og særlig ikke barn
vi kan kjøle dem ned
eller varme dem opp
men ikke la dem lunkne

de lunkne spytter jeg ut av min munn
som et skjellsord
i rettskaffenhetens medvind

og min tale skal være ja ja
eller nei nei
men mest
nei nei
gutt
dette må bli slutt

og minst av alt er kjærligheten