GRIZLI777

A Bar Fly and a Donkey

Poems, Stories, Epigrams, Tanka and Senryu
Jan Oskar Hansen [Pick the date]

Lovers End

Love is doomed to an early death, forever tinged with sadness; even ardent lovers sense it can t last. Ah, the mythical scenery no one in the world loved so deep as us. Entwined, yes, so heavenly I was your body and your s mine. Sensuous we smiled and I saw my images in your face drown in the miasma of love. The cooling of ardour was not for us, but we could not stop time. Grey sky, why must this delight die? The ship has left its anchorage and the sea is endless.

Is love a Daydream?

Behind long eyelashes Your brown eyes spoke Of untold passion Our cafe table was an oasis Of tranquillity I hoped time would stop Forever be this moment But it was not to be I saw you as a daydream When I woke up the coffee Was cold and you had gone.

A kinda love story

You rang told me to come pick up my shaving stuff and tooth brush. I found them in a plastic bag near your kitchen door.

I knocked on the window asked, to get my heart back too, unkind you chucked out a raw pig s liver. My dog was delighted.

Tanka

Minutes in a line Waiting for me to use them Yet they smile They know a time will come When the line will be broken

Dream Time,

When they carried him out in a black bag he looked small like a parcel, he had been famous now he was nothing. If you need me just whistle, too late for that now. And the world s press had a headline. But this little death is a natural occurrence it s about God the deity s place in our life. God is not a separate entity god is the usual occurrences of everything normal. The church seeks miracle to shore up its faith when our everyday life is a marvel. God is nature god is us, when we die we are absorbed into the wonder of the world...a mystic that need not be explained but seen as a rebirth to eternity. The conscious thought worries many, to be is to know I think, this is the human egotism talking, when absorbed into the great nothing the individual becomes a part of the collective consciousness that is nature and god. The world will in time be calling your name...embrace it now. Because the unknown is where dreams are born.

Freedom of Speech

The tree s root had grown about ground crawled along To find a better soil to sink deep into for nourishment. I fell over a rot, rabbits jumped over and boars didn t even notices it was there. Angrily I got up and kicked a weed its seed flew all the way to the west bank and grew on a Jewish wall of shame, something made of concrete is no match for nature, no need for trumpets Jerusalem s walls will fall in time and free the people of Israel from the burden of hate. And I will be able to write what I like without stumbling over Wikipedia and be denied access on facebook.

Sleepless.

Ants of insomnia Walk across my pupils Soon it will be dawn Relieved I will stay on the terrace See the sunrise Then I will go back to bed And sleep to eleven Dreaming of a comma less sky.

Awards

I ve worn the uniform of poetry For so long that the past is now A distant dream. Plain is my uniform no medals Received, yet loyally I soldier on Guarding my poesy.

Shoreline

Far out there on the ocean I saw a tank ship steering towards the sun; the sea was golden. My feet I felt a slight vibration of her engine and it made me dizzy with futile longings. No, I shall never walk on an iron deck again see the sunset the sudden darkness and stars so near I could reach up and touch them. The ship disappeared into the misty horizon, just as well, there was a time when I stood looking towards the fading shoreline.

The kite

A man was flying his kite, enthralled by the kite s graceful acrobatic, he didn t see dark clouds behind him. Lightning struck, the man fell to the ground, lost his grip. Released from worldly strings the kite kept on flying towards the undefined.

So goodnight ...for now.

So a day has come to an end, flashing images of mountains lakes and forests have lulled, there is peace of a job done. A question remains, though what is behind the tall berg? What is life like deep under the oceans? So much life and how little I do understand of the wonder called poetry.

Dogs Tell no Tales.

When I came to their house the dog in the yard didn t bark it whimpered. I knocked on the door it was ajar, but filled with foreboding I didn t open. I patted the dog on its head gave it some sweets I had in my pocket. The cure wanted to come with me, I took my belt off and used it as a lead. There was nothing the dog could tell me and nothing I wanted to know. It curled up by the fireplace, but it did cry in its sleep.

Tanka (Instinct)

I took care of her dog Eight year later she came back Dog glad to see her Happily jumped into her car Didn t appear to miss me.

The Mare.

Lonely horse On a misty spring field It neighed Came to the fence I stroked its damp flank It began grazing But looked up to see if I was still there

Epigram

The masses think they deserve castles, get into debt, the worthy blame the lenders. They know people are economically dense and cannot be trusted to think clearly when given a choice between need and desire.

Epigram.

When the oppressed are freed of their chains, they build an army and look for someone else to crush, as it is a human need to feel superior, this cannot be achieved if everyone is equal.

Senryu

May fortress Israel One day be free of hatred And become a nation

Mary Jo where are you now? Brown eyes full of horror, fingers clawing at the window and door as water filled the car.

Your lover stood by the river bank paralyzed with fear... he could do nothing to save you, only think how to get out of this mess.

The papers got their story, not so much about you, more about your lover, who lived on and became the head of a bottled dynasty.

Mary Jo who puts flowers on your grave? The man who let you drown got a grand funeral, but of your name there is only silence.

Epigram

We in the west harp about democracy, demand other countries do as us. If a country holds free elections, we will not accept the result, if it goes against our interests.

Sly Cat.

A black feline lives in my house when it feels like it. I have piece of string swing in front of the cat, it indulges me trying to catch the string, till it gets bored. Walks into the kitchen and waits for me to open a tin of tuna fish. In the evening, If it isn t raining, it goes out killing things.

Barfly.

Outside a bar, Bella Vista, in the sleepy town of BarranquillaColombia- a donkey wore a hat with holes for its ears, dozed. Hot day, its serenity was endless. Around its closed eyes blue flies crawled. I m kind to animals, waved my hand in front of its eyes to get rid of flies. The beast saw it differently, kicked. In the street only the donkey, me and the cruel midday sun, everyone else had sought refuge the dark interior of houses. Looked at the bar s dark, cool interior, since the beast didn t care for my sympathy I limped back in there and had a beer.

Gloomy

The saddest sight A bar closed Four in the morning When I just want another Drink Before going home To an empty flat And a stuffed canary In a dusty cage. The consolation is If I walk slowly The Chinese grocer Will be open And he has got cold Beer in his fridge.

When I Met Sir Cliff

I once met Cliff Richard at a newsagent he bought a conservative paper which, makes sense since he is loaded? Cliff smiled to everyone in the shop, I did not, can t see why I should smile buying a newspaper. That is the difference between us except he can sing bland songs that are pleasing to the ear and has got hair. We spoke he was pleased to have someone to talk to who wasn t an adoring fan. We drank wine, too much and I walked him home, he lived nearby. He had forgotten his keys to the gate, but jauntily jumped over the wall. And that was the last I saw of Cliff, a slim bum disappearing behind a wall

Tanka (oil spill) A flash in the night A rusty, old tank ship sank The sea was still Rainbow coloured spilt oil Glittered on its surface

An Officer s Daughter (Lima 1964)

Maria von Stoltenberg s father had been a SS officer, had a picture of him in her room. On his cap the dreaded silver skull. But since she was proud of her father and knew nothing of his past, I made no despairing comments. A strange woman, a round faced Indian with blond hair, she was pleased of that it made her different and in the line of work since her father had disappeared, when weird men came looking for him, she was popular. Maria liked me, said I looked like her father, blue eyes, blond hair and all that crap. She took a few days off work, I hired a car, we toured the odd a hill landscape, few trees and no rain had fallen for years. Maria s dream was to go to Germany, meet her father s relatives, and be an officer s daughter. I knew this was an impossible dream, but promised to see what I could do when back in Europe. We corresponded for a time, till my letters came back as return of post. I shall not know what happened to Maria, but hope she found love her kind heart deserves it.

Birthdays

The romantic dream of old age and serenity Is a lie. Every day is getting more difficult, The sun burns and rain gives pain in old bones. Words do not flow as easy as before. Time that appeared endless is now short and We are aware of our mortality. Yet we carry on trying to fill a blank page with Thoughts...it is what we do while waiting. We know life its wonder and bitter disappointment. Death is a strange territory we are reluctant To go there, even if we must.

Just for fun

In a hamlet in Swiss the baker died, The farrier took over And the lucky ones get a horse shoe In their loaf.

I met Stephen Fry

I was walking along the avenue in Loule and met Stephen Fry. He was dressed in tweed, not suitable for a warm spring day. Stephen, do you realize you are followed by a group of men wearing sunglasses on an overcast day? my body guards.

I see . Let me take you home to my house and show you my art collection. As we drove to my house, the body guards followed in a limousine. While Fry was admiring my wall arts I made coffee. But these are prints. he said. Well what do you expect, I m a poet. Call me Stephen he said, handed

me a credit card, told me to buy real paintings, I declined his offer, wouldn t like to see him getting in trouble again.

Unmarked Page

This blank page looks like a snow landscape a plateau of possibilities, and thoughts not yet born. II will leave it blank after all snow will thaw to greenness and the plateau will bustle of mice, men and Angora goats. But I may write something on the left hand corner just a small mark, nothing deep, just to say halloo and then leave the blankness to its own silence.

Inventors.

Logie Baird The man who invented TV Got bored with it Nothing on, he said.

Flat Stones.

The boy threw a flat stone into the lake, four times it skipped on the surface then plump! The boy knew of another boy who could get a stone to skip seven times, he works for the council now expert inlaying decorative pavements. When the lake was drained there were two piles of stone one big pile and a smaller one, further ahead and they looked new, they had all been held by boys hands, (girls don t do stones)and been joyously alive for a few seconds.

Senryu

Think of the wolf It only gets uncooked meat And no pudding

Senryu Think of the fox too Stealing chicken to survive Snout full of feathers

Senryu And think of the rat Hides under floorboards near you In fear of your cat

Senryu A happy mouse...is One that can drink spilt red wine And pull the cat s tail

My friend Tom.

Tom I remember, a jobbing, gifted actor who never got a big break. But he didn t give up as acting was his life, even on his death bed he read scripts in case he should survive.

Tom was a descent man, too nice I would say, when people stole valuable furniture from his home, he didn t report them to the police, because he knew who the thieves were and didn t like to make fuzz.

Tom I loved and the day he died Algarve was not the same again and now spring is here I think of him and his sunny smile. The world is not fair, but he enriched my life for that I m grateful.

Lovers End

Love is doomed to an early death, forever tinged with sadness; even ardent lovers sense it can t last. Ah, the mythical scenery no one in the world loved so deep as us. Entwined, yes, so heavenly I was your body and your s mine. Sensuous we smiled and I saw my images in your face drown in the miasma of love. The cooling of ardour was not for us, but we could not stop time. Grey sky, why must this delight die? The ship has left its anchorage and the sea is endless.

The Sentinel

Another night begins and thoughts run riot, memories, the shadow land called the past. Useless, experiences have to be lived in the now, no room for reflection when it happens. We have to live in our mistakes, when we thought we were right. As night end and morning begins I will reflect, when the sun comes over the Spanish hill. But my distress is total the night will not leave its terror, and the past seems like a better place.

The Continuation

It is night they have all gone to bed, since I m old and sleep little my job is to keep the ember alive in the stove, add a piece of wood now and then. My granddad used to do that keeping the flames alive, so when the young got up the rooms wouldn t be too cold. I sit in darkness but see through curtains snow falling adding to millions of other snowflakes, I know the children will be exited, the adults less so. For me it doesn t matter, but I haven t forgotten the pleasure of a snowy landscape. It is odd, me godless man, feel an inner peace, everything that has happened fits together I have meet my ghosts; nothing scares me anymore except rumours of a new war. As a child I knew war and all its brutality, I was hoping my grandchildren would be spared. I m nearly falling asleep but my granddad awakes me, whispers about my obligations, I add a piece of wood to the fire and dream of yesteryear.

The Conceit

I know I should not think about this anymore, but I regret I let her go. All I had to do was to say I loved her. But I was sad, angry had seen her walk hand in hand with another man. She tried to explain, I would not listen, and when she walked away my heart cried, my voice screamed come back darling, but my words didn t reach my lips. She walked slowly when rounding the corner she looked back, yet I stood there frozen in my own conceit. Yes, I walked to the bridge, by the waterfall, knew I was a fake, and bathed in moonlight staggered home.

The Customers

Another night, the hum of cafes and bars stops, waiters, have gone home, the alarm has been switched on Plush bar stools, smell of perfume and heavy air of empty talk. Cleaners come tomorrow morning, when they are done, the bar will be as soul less as a morgue. Antiseptic, blanched, no traces of humanity left. When regulars arise to go to work, the pavement is brushed of cigarette butts, and as the day ends, the lonely will be back again.

Horse Laughter

Horses galloped Across the thunderous pampas One wore glasses

Wild and free ponies To corral of destiny ran Salami tomorrow

Proud stallion Its strength accomplished Now a plough horse

The Revolution

Night smells as a dinner cooked with too much garlic, plates are stacked in the kitchen sink... for tomorrow. A dog barks dense it is takes comfort in its own racket, a protest again the overcast sky. Rain in the air hangs overhead, bland as a BBC voice. Euro- American leaders don t know what warring side to support keep options open. Whatever outcome, death will stalk sad streets. I don t care have an electricity bill to pay, the winter has been long, I will not be cold for the sake of shaky peace deals in some distant countries.

The tragedy.

The ship ploughing the seas to Australia was big and modern. But a silent enemy lurked within...a gas accumulation. No one heard the noise as the ship was ripped apart like a tin of tuna fish. No time to think or understand; minutes later the sea was green and calm.

From the Horse s Mouth

Caught in a blizzard on the prairie; bitterly cold. With heavy heart I killed my horse split open its belly, crept inside. Fell asleep when I awoke my horse was nowhere to be seen I walked home, it was surprisingly easy. At the ranch they gave me water and hay.

MES CHEVAUX DE PIERRE

Chevaux dans la neige, Je leur ai apport du fourrage, Ils hennissement, La neige sur leurs dos fond, Suis-je un pourvoyeur de bonheur ?

Jan Oskar Hansen

Translated into French by Athanase Vantchev de Thracy

Belize City

Anchored in the bay The sea was green And there were mangroves This strange place that is Neither sea nor land. By the time I was able to Go ashore Belize was just Another port That no longer appealed To a middle aged sailor.

A Poet s Curse.

It may be a summer day, you feel in top of your game. But be careful before you dive into this sea of poetry. This maelstrom of conflicting thoughts may drag you under and if you surface you might not be the same. Swim and swim till you reach the coast of no belief, on a land that has no sunlight, and where melancholy mists your days and you long for the simpler life. You look around see family, you have forsaken gone, to an easier place of predictability. On the Parnassian landscape gold is just a metal and god is an inhuman curse in the wilderness. You have been the sky, the sea, carob trees and butter beans, no one can take the mystery of life away from you; and yet, if you survive this lonely quest, you are a poet and need not explain yourself to god or man.

Senryu (6) Money isn t all In Bahrain people cry freedom And they are not poor

Open loo lid I stubbornly dare my wife When she s away

It was my dream once Reading morally correct poems Am I a priest?

In our village The priest has two sons They call him padre

I must be serious Is the inner life of oysters? A worthy subject

Exiled Kaddafi Can move into my garage I need curtain materials.

Tolerance

These modern days Are more illiberal than before The uprights...a pain A Churchill would be sacked Smoking cigars in public.

Drinking whisky And occasionally get drunk In parliament We can t have any of that Only monks will do these days

Wordy

Twilight years, how I love it I can tell people to go away And they cannot fire me. Freedom of speech belongs To the old and infirm, They have nothing to lose. There is a problem though Who the hell is listening to? An old man s rambling.

End words.

A banana... is a practical fruit, no need to clean it just peel and eat it. Like workable poetry, nothing is hidden under fabled stones and workshop routine.