1 2 HEP TA ME RON

KLAUS HØECK

Translation John Irons © 2006

3 For Anne-Marie

The mandrakes give a smell, and at our gates are all manner of pleasant fruits, new and old, which I have laid up for thee, O my beloved.

Song of Solomon VII, v. 13

4 The Book of the Word

5 6 O

in the beginning was the word and the word was with god and the word was god all things were made by it and without it was not anything made that was made and the word became flesh and took its dwelling among us and we saw its glory

7 OA OF

the first the first night i see you through i throw day of marienglas the gold-dust by among in and she (summer’s secret with and grey leather decoction) in your eyes’ trousers round the rear seething crucibles glorious a beginning and you become beautiful takes word as if you should die in flesh’s dwelling your skin gleams the first with sea-fire i saw you in and your body the snowstorm’s nitrogen is transformed without without without without into one flesh

OP

in the beginning was the word and the word was with god and the word was god all things were made by it and without it was not anything made that was made and the word became flesh and took its dwelling among us and we saw its glory

OS OG

the second night the third night you pull up a fish everything and nothing are from my blood welded together and this morning into the gleaming it stands acetylene of one moment red with magenta you can still on my skin see the scar like a tattoo from that will fade god’s flamethrower into brown smoking on my neck and amethysts as on one of before the week is over yves klein’s last like a seal from neptune scorched canvases

8 The First Book of the Flesh

9 10 OF F OFpA p

your profile then i find becomes a cameo in an attack of fever in the dark number seven a take a grip of your a chinese point neck: long-skull behind your left ear grip the ivory i do not stick of your neck any gold needle provençal perhaps into its centre at seventh remove but press or more beautiful than so hard raging ivory with my index finger i grip your that you get the cramps death’s head skull of a holy epilepsy

OFP

the fourth evening i bite a halo of stellar nebula mauve with lymph in the rainbow of your shoulder and you scream nakedly as if you were about to give birth your pain is spread in the electrolysis of your sex and your desire is transformed into one soul

OFpS OFpG

you smell i must be a voyeur my love i can plainly see you almost stink your body under the armpits: the vagina’s crabmeat crucibles with and at night cat’s piss and methyl i observe your lap in secret is boiling with the semen’s sea-fire the summer’s caviar seething on the it stinks of death skin of your face and cherries my eye is not still you smell wonderful for a moment my love when you are present

11 OApA OApF

five candles i saw your legs are long burn right through like those of a cristel girl around through like the finno-russian behind the marienglas border of your pubis like a pair of compasses the cats racing against that circle round your eyes in the night the first leather of pain and a gawping angel desire’s at our intercourse second snowstorm the right through behind iiiiii me ii i put out the sixth iiii between and you are a lit the seventh candle crane-fly my love

OAP

the seventh i reach you right through the silver paper of sleep by among in and she and blue angels of dreams around the forehead glorious a day takes its dwelling in the flesh of the word the seventh i reach you right through the wedding dress of the skin without without without without

OA G OApS p

your skin is white i have to cross and glistening as a seventh thresholds each time shark’s belly when you turn right through the beginning round over and end right through the sea-bed of the sheet assyrian dreams but i have found right through the flame a small grey of logic seven diamonds vein a crackle i have to explode finer than nitrogen i have to pass right through than metal fatigue seven incarnations that leads me to each and every time the bleeding wound of i meet your invulnerability you once again

12 OS F OSpA p

i can taste you catch me a cut on your literally lips a small seal between the legs: and still my sperm your thighs in your mouth are tighter than the verdigrised copper a fox trap of rape up between round the loins the teeth still you have caught me why did you not inside the great amethyst take a bite at of fertilisation phallus impudicus in there where the fishes between the tattoo also stiffen of the erect morning in the blood’s magenta

OSP

the second of february you puff breath into my clay and now here today i wake up fresh with semen in your vagina’s access i am reborn in flesh and red perhaps before the year is over like a picture of leonora

OS G OSpS p

you ride me pull me hard tonight out of my soul like a godiva otherwise i will wither this time on inside there in myself a brown war horse inside the small desert that has smelt of emptiness salt and blood between the bonfires i spit you pull back my in the face from love foreskin so i you ride me with bared head gently tonight (like paul) without a saddle can ask life in the armour of nakedness for forgiveness

13 OGpA OGpF

once more you hover your arms are above me like of kindling wood an eagle a relief my love like welded in corten steel brushwood gathered in unforgivably high one of pieter circling brueghel’s before the third thrust smoke-filled forests down into my throat but let no one and i can see misunderstand this acetylene flame they are stronger than in your eyes the birds’ hollow bones the snow of bliss on when they bear the turrets of al-majaj mir you past the orgasm

OGP

the fifth day you and i melt together in one raging kiss of the gift of tongues i can still see the spit from the breath’s exegesis drip foaming from your mouth as in one of teresa avila’s most ardent prayers

OG S p OGpG

your name sounds your knees like an apple branch are sharp like dipped in salt the spikes on and mine like jeanne d’arc’s a saracen’s sword armour (gleaming that slices pink on the inside through the canvas like a mussel) there is no hidden they are god’s spurs symbolism in this in my flesh image i have the last omen merely sketched that i have a possible draft longed for of our heraldry in my heptameron

14 The Second Book of the Flesh

15 16 OF A A p p OFpApF

my sex is when i turn a bird in your you round your spinal chord hand a quail your shoulder blade perhaps that suddenly crackles or flies in a flutter rather squeaks out of my darkness alarmingly like a when your pale cameo defect hinge and you gleams when your come towards me ivory crackles from within the secret or rather a provence more beautiful than migrating fieldfare death bearing an urn in search of the last full of may dew through winter apple in your garden your invisible hidden door

OFpAP

you make me a knight of st john in the dark you paint or scorch your triumphal cross of smoking scarlet (as on the tarot card number twenty) and menstruation on my forehead you resurrect a dead man

OFpApS OFpApG

tibia i say today i couple and with with you a finger like a mongrel trace down or like a wild cat the mountain ridge without mercy of your shinbone like a harun it tingles ar raschid right up in my neck on a foray you reply as you you snarl but thus put both accept your anatomy’s violet fate the little atlas and my theory of the body grey cat also immediately precisely into place comes into heat

17 OF F F OFpFpA p p a thousand and one nights there is a i will fly turquoise in your left to the ear lobe because baghdad of my dreams you are sagittarius or on this blue mattress because it is a thousand and one times my favourite stone you pour out desire or maybe because you fill its bowl i am to prick from a my finger abbasidian silver pitcher until it bleeds for a thousand and one days the sake of love i hover above as in some arabic the holy city of intercourse legend or other

OFpFP

behind veil number seven i find you in an attack of fever and i see that passion is precisely the suffering no longer to suffer that nothing hinders any more the epileptic cramp of its fulfilment in the mosque of your body

OFpFpS OFpFpG

i hang a i press you revolver down hard in (with islamic chasing) my bed up in a green my nails point fishing line to the nadir in this bedroom (i.e. towards yemen) why do you think in a moment i am doing this the imprint of in the middle your body will stand of gold’s like a green bas-relief numidian point on this your answer will reveal sheet of orange whether you love me parachute silk

18 OF S F OFpSpA p p

you write on if i say the parchment of my skin that your right knee you print invisible is like the massada letters around rock does that my nipples sound stupid paint strange i know it does signs from the nevertheless saudi-arabian flag it’s true your right you write knee actually looks like secret the massada rock with love poems the fort casemate on the skin of my belly cisterns storerooms with your tongue and herod’s synagogue

OFpSP

you are wearing cotton and i don’t care about the silk panties and french lace certain women pack in the caviar of their sex when you by means of your example show that the most sexy is cotton your quite ordinary danish cotton panties my love

OFpSpS OFpSpG

i map you i register bit by bit that your eyes are boiling with my with methyl under indecency my love the brows’ damask close-read your swords you are nubian caves without a doubt pregnant under arms and buttocks my love smell my way forward when summer comes you will with my immorality probably walk around with to your death’s a belly like the she-cat’s cherry tree while i read just under the great poet the cone of the pubis abbas ibn al-ahnaf

19 OFpGpA OFpGpF

why is your the full moon vagina dry like vitriol scarred like cain’s face round my sex behind my double glazing why does the foun you have your period tain not spring in there in once again according to horace the dark are you taking atropin that means that for your cold or do silver turns black that you simply not fancy the mutant rose will me tonight? perhaps though immediately blossom i ought rather to listen when you pass by to abu abdallah nafzawi but according to me that who prefers a my peace is gone for a burton dry vagina to a wet one at the selfsame instant

OFpGP

i read in a poem by bisjr ibn ali khazim that the poet fucks a women up the arse so thoroughly that for a long time the skin will be sore (a woman with a breast fold red with saffron) you my love you are sure to understand why i approach this secret place of yours in a paraphrase

OFpGpS OFpGpG

you have a swedish how much time is tooth position my love there left? a quarter which means of a century at best that you have a narrow and about half that to palate almost your body to your like a shoe-horn flesh’s southern cross of sea-fire in which my tongue just that much semen fits like a shoe-tongue i must be on my guard or a silver ingot i value the kiss in a deerskin pouch look intensely at you have a you nothing escapes my palate like vigilance each the family of charles xii intercourse is important now

20 OA A A p p OApApF

i saw that you i crossed pieces grew mature between of wild thyme each of our intercourses (as in the moon) through the synod of each beneath our pain your eyes became slanted bed last night and russian as studied at length on an icon or the accidents of incandescent behind your pubis marienglas i wanted like the sufis at to call you irina the seventh stage but refrained from doing so outside i was not transforming the light of memory swiftly enough myself i wanted to forget nothing

OApAP

i considered the djebel et tur of your arse or mount tabor (to be absolutely fair) the fragrant mount of transfigurations our cats probably saw it too (when i turned off the electric light) with a halo of phosphorus round the summit

OApApS OApApG

how on earth why dammit could you know that did i give you five i was interested in red tulips the special landscape why the hell of did i write the love foot soles (our and valentine letter walk there to you here in in silver and primrose) mid-april not how could you to mention know who i the six poems about the angel? was when i because fernando did not even pessoa would have know it myself? liked it

21 OA F F OApFpA p p

i trace the first phase the tiger claw round your is over pain and right breast desire are balanced precisely according like the green circle to vatsyayana’s of the equinox description in the round the tabernacle fourth chapter of part two where four precisely as any cherubs stand tom cat marks off guard over its territory or corpus delicti perhaps because i i gave you thus acquire nothing a copyright on you but yourself

OApFP

you won’t get any squeezekiss here not a single snugglekiss after dinner the welcome kiss is just as long and bloody as the anguish of the goodbye kiss my love i only kiss you to life or to death

OApFpG OApFpS

i call you like a liebling snowstorm passion schätzlein passes and marigold through my life utterly ridiculous what am i to do now sure when the russian drought like the dialogue in of the summer a finnish film sets in but what else am i like a coup de grâce to do (you gorgeous and you duckie) when really i happen to throw off the mean exactly that? leather mask of your strength?

22 OApSpA OApSpF

i lick you i don’t know not in the small hollow much about death of the neck (triangulum (who does by the way) australis) like a but taste it deer i bite like a fine grey until you thump film of nitrogen a teakwood table on the skin of your back (just to find an outlet above your right shoulder for your pain blade’s servo-mechanism) until your perhaps though i am pleasure mistaken is it precisely has reached searing life you its climax have secreted there?

OApSP

you do not find yourself in me not a single wound or labyrinth in the mind leads out not a single vein or crackle leads in to anything else than an image a scrap a stranded core in a photo burning with salt i am not you

OA S G OApSpS p p

when you lie there why i like that you look am writing this like a fluxus love poem sculpture erected to you on the seabed or is obvious in st nicholas’ church i am converting your for example glistening shark’s belly into you are indeed a a ‘shark’s belly’ tangle of knees and hair your apple complexion when you lie there into ‘apple complexion’ like that and shed your i am writing the flesh light over me white into words again as newly-cast metal i am making you ‘immortal’

23 OA G A OApGpA p p

i realise lips redder that you are a than rape real princess an upper lip of when i poppies and a find marks lower lip like (blue as first assyrian poems class stamps) i kiss your on each lips to extinguish buttock my longing numb not from the pea myself in pain’s but i would pure opium for i guess from know that lips my thumbs are the incarnation of lust

OApGP

dreams more beautiful than a peacock butterfly larger dreams than logic disrupt my sleep several days later i find seven jigsaw pieces inside me and seven in my everyday search for and find the last one with you on it

OA G S p p OApGpG

you love me you flame you say through the diamond what do now like electroshock i care? ignite my am i to fall beginning anew into a swoon like an each time anemone i am on the point here in early may? of finishing i’ll look after you move through my own my christianity’s cryptic feelings poems now and and you can illuminate my words look after yours with your nakedness

24 OS A A p p OSpApF

when chair on the iranian number four brass dish you creakingly collapsed bought in århus at the seams last year a roaring after yet another lion follows a override as on one small deer of the male dromedaries the psychologists would in imru-l-qai’s poetry probably say that images of i said that kind symbolise a to you: now rape of the you going to have female psyche i to find some sort of said – the lion new saddle position is hungry you replied

OSpAP

why do i feel such a desire to bite your lips and throat like a vampire after blood perhaps because i have so often been close to death in the night hours when you sucked sperm and life into your living mouth

OS A G OSpApS p p

you don’t have a you were in paris single gold tooth in your mouth last night you say nor a verdigrised hesitantly and look copper seal standing at me with between psyche and body eyes grey like mont martre (as i do) you are not from above in the hollow-backed even though rain’s slanting light your heart is on (like the wounds and tattoes red-hot stakes and of the i am enchanted at pisarro picture) night but your you were in paris right elbow is together with me even so made of alder in my dream

25 OS F A p p OSpFpF

your nails are your rapture is not chinese mine and vice versa i mean long that is in a gold case but the secret almost the opposite between babylonian you and me beloved and red like large raindrops when you scratch me that fall in the pectorals from god under the wart like amethysts right there where like the rose petals in the birth mark ar-rudu al atiru drips like a tear fi nazahat al-hatir

OSpFP

you only use the best perfumes: juices from insemination and tap water or rain i know you would like to have a more sophisticated scent but i am captured by the extracts from the skin’s own essence

OS F G OSpFpS p p

congealed blood your buttocks are on the sheet still tight like magenta or like meissen porcelain a seal of two rosenthal bowls copycat coral upended nail varnish i can see there stains as large as between your loins and foeticide only separated by life’s literal a crack gutter of burnt umbra now the snake has i place my hands bitten you again beloved on you between your thighs there where else?

26 OS S F OSpSpA p p

tonight you weep archimedes’ screw without shame for is acquired as described an hour or more without stopping by sheik abdallah while i without nafzawi: i lie any feeling of guilt on my back you squat refresh myself with above my organ kamasutra’s blood and and hold your face desert salt against mine i don’t know who has ejaculation is made led you to believe that the great more difficult now and then love (eudemic in this position joy) doesn’t hurt by the blocking of the semen but now you know for sure

OSpSP

you are a beduin my love that for the twentieth time has left this dwelling (with jupiter’s brown-striped tent canvas stretched out over the bed) and my nakedness no you are just a woman on her way to work i also see reality’s mirror

OS S G OSpSpS p p

in your sleep you i have never you really nut me in ridden in a saddle true copenhagen style of moroccan leather so hard that i do not own any armour see the compulsory (or chain mail for five-pointed star from a that matter) i am not comic strip and a war stallion hear the sound ‘sploosh’ from lydia (with a i defend myself precious stone at my forehead) gently with a kind of i am a man reverse judo hold of forty-six who so love also hurts loves you neither in a different way too more nor less

27 OSpGpA OSpGpF

don’t snore like do not put out the muezzin’s my light with darkness call to prayer but with love my love do not put out my fire snore like with the newly fallen snow female camels in heat but with paraffin then i will so i can feel place my ear my hair curl to the soul’s like the apostles’ vibrato or frizzle round my sex then i will far like the marga off hear the silence ananda disciple’s from my own desert in there at the stake

OSpGP

do not touch me tonight my skin will hurt even at the slightest touch (do not touch me with the lightest wing of the fire butterfly my mouth and my skin are burnt by caresses and will pain me at every kiss

OS G G OSpGpS p p

lie with you backside just take away in the air my life my love yes pull in the literal and listen to santana’s sense life high-flown caravanserai out of me (by then i will sucking with your lips both approach silently here and there) from behind then i will then i can leave almost bashfully myself in peace and quiet ease my paul’s head (in a threefold into the garden of sense) prohibition and disturb so my emptiness the peacocks’ dance paradoxically is emptied

28 OG A A p p OGpApF

you are the catalogue’s barking up the wrong tree number twenty-three not guilty abou aungra i can do nothing crowned by a mount about it that you of venus protruding smell like a like the camel’s hump flowering wood stretched out violets on your neck between your thighs or like a divided like a calf’s head siberian crab apple god grant on your nape you must yourself that i (precisely i) take responsibility for may enjoy such this stupid a vulva amen poem my love

OGpAP

that you touch such a neutral spot as my tensed calf muscle or my heel’s flaming steel and that i thereby can feel the acetylene rise in my bones and my marrow (towards a summit of violet snow) at your touch is not only ridiculous but most real

OG A S p p OGpApG

so i must also every remember your nose love poem and what about your profile? is unforgivable i will describe beloved full of your silhouette as a ‘hovering eagles’ and relief painting by ‘bliss on karel van manders al majaj-mir’ where the heroine or with words like is seen sitting ‘your eye’ – ‘my eye’ at an open window every love poem at twilight is unforgivable beloved a window because love circled by ivy can never be abstract

29 OG F F OGpFpA p p

in your eyes there you have put on are no woodland lakes the moroccan where birds patterned skirt of red iron more complex than sing with ibn farid’s writings their beaks turned away you have no in the morning panties on they look most like the almond of your sex gleams stewed apples with phosphorus – how or they can be do i know that? because grey like a failed your nostrils betray you orgasm you eyes their slight quiverings are delightful beloved their nubian gold

OGpFP

your bones are long as flutes tuned in F major and probably full of burnt umbra and a sound no one hears without being dead beloved they are like drumsticks like the crossbones under the skull you wear so high above them

OG F S p p OGpFpG

you know your arms yes the five-pointed star of desire your arms and the point of gravity your wrong-way-round arms that is pain beloved almost you know that love snapped like sticks in and suffering belong water hollow of together it is brushwood and smoke strong quite simple as a sumi wrestler’s but you don’t know when you squeeze me that death what am i to do trips you up with them i mean even each time i they are always in the way go to bed with you somewhere or other

30 OG S F OGpSpA p p

i have lifted you have never my heart’s black looked like a nude cloth and shown model on a lost you that saracen biro or posed sword in whose on a lighter beneath blade you now some symbolic reflect your soul apple branch or other (that and that coat of arms nevertheless conceals in which your breasts and sex) i com own heart bleeds pare my inner in the left quarter image with this i have revealed our porno you are fortunately secret heraldry far naughtier beloved

OGpSP

you have received a strange mirror from me beloved what mirror yes what mirror what is the mirror of being? answer: not-being i have brought you a strange poem have brought not-being as our monogram

OGpSpS OGpSpG

you have become a i have not necessary condition carved your name for all my love into some because this is crabapple tree or out established in of sidra nor alam al djabarut under have i sketched your a seven-pointed star of salt anagram on canvas and not the opposite there is no trace because you are precisely in my poem that leads not one with me to even the slightest are not equal to me interpretation but it is here in this world written her in alam al shahada behind every word

31 OGpGpA OGpGpF

sixty-four tracks language only has you have left in this one poor my flesh shown me expression: i love you the sixty-four therefore i have arts and written two thousand sixty-four burning poems about kisses omens (the sound phat and roses lust and i.a. and auparisktaka) pain in the sixty-four precious stones hanging gardens now gleam so as not once in soul and body to use this light up my turn of phrase: heart’s armour i love you

OGpGP

why are your lips so red and your teeth beloved so blindingly white in their albedo? because i kiss this temptation every day because i have kissed myself sick on teeth lips and tongue every single blessed day

OG G G OGpGpS p p

in the middle is i close the book of the flesh and the flesh is flesh round this poem god and the flesh like a mussel becomes soul that longs for takes its dwelling its last pearl among men or like you round i see its your pregnancy’s glory innermost courts the soul’s glory i have sealed the soul’s great the second book of the flesh heptameron with the raging kisses miraculous as of my love and a red hawthorn in blossom now break the seal of the soul

32 The Book of the Soul

33 34 OF A A F OFpApApA p p p

when young i this shelley knew read a book whose and dante when title was: das seelen he grouped even leben der pflanzen murderers as it was metaphysical trees with dark and heavy with ivory thorns in the i did not learn thirteenth canto and much from it about now i can also see that the soul or the plants it really is true for that matter because your although perhaps this soul shines with that the soul most phosphorus like the belongs to the realm of plants hawthorn in the deer park

OFpApAP

yes you are a siberian crabapple tree in blossom or perhaps rather a larch that crackles with lacquer when you laugh you are the last almond tree by mondrian even though he never painted it in reality

OF A A S p p p OFpApApG

your soul is a that is why we yearn tree beloved because the trees tug that stands lovelier in our sudden than the spruce ness because the trees that spreads out more mightily wish to mirror themselves in than your veins’ the soul’s cameo because the trees wintertree bathed in wish to see their own mercury it puts out fluttering dreams a thousand and one that is why we so often blossoms and a single bird seek the forests out sings in its to stand as friends as secret crown behind the guardians of greenness be the mirrors of dawn neath the crusade of the stars

35 OFpApFpA OFpApFpF

i go out into oh yes it is the bathroom and the body look myself in the eyes that gets greener than death drunk on beaujolais muddy as the limpopo for example or hello mr soul drowns itself in sangre is there anyone at home brava’s urns of in there behind the shoulder secret maydew blade’s creaking swing but it door inside the is the soul shop no – the soul that becomes answers today we’re intoxicated on closed all day the wine’s red trade wind

OFpApFP

my soul you are a cabinet of thoughts it would seem as in descartes’ meditations you can never explain yourself inside the circle but only outside (like a kind of complementarity) can never explain your presence in yourself and by yourself

OFpApFpS OFpApFpG

my soul my soul who is it that is you come towards me approaching from the mirror supported you now to the spine through invisible veils you are wearing a red-striped who is it that is dressing gown and turning incessantly doubling a cob pipe in itself in the metal mirrors my right hand staining them you are almost with rust so they indistinguishable from do not dazzle the body when you as in ibn al thus have farid’s most lovely poem? decked yourself out as me

36 OFpApSpA OFpApSpF

dear soul dear soul is it you that are there you are then moving or lift your head high rather leading my on my writing desk a white rose index finger around in in a ceramic vase the nape’s scar of or rather an crystal violet because it emblem that tickles so infamously counts at least five there right now thousand years in theory you that are controlling all i write who will my body with only be forty-seven a marionette master’s undeniably a wires and precision? strange dialectic

OFpApSP

dear soul i say once more answer me this: where is ‘in reality’ – is that where you are? you do not reply and in reality you could just as well burden me with the same question

OF A S S p p p OFpApSpG

dear soul dear soul where is your aritotelean so many rumours place your exact are rife about you: position inside the machine that you have lent of anatomy or outside in your name to the the pandemonium of small sound post projections is it up in that you can the ivory chambers of the be held confined pineal gland or down in inside a violin the heart’s mirror which is that you are veiled by moorish immortal flags where is are any of your final dwelling? these rumours true?

37 OFpApGpA OFpApGpF

no your soul that is why your soul is of course has such a strong fragrance not a tree in june after (neither an oak beneath the sudden foray the moot of the stars of rain (or nor a grace if you prefer) in grieving pine) hedgerow and scrub yes your the soul has no soul really smells substance of wood more strongly than red like nor red angels your a rose of soul has no crown the house of lancaster it is a shrub of that i am prepared to wet rugosa roses swear on the bible

OFpApGP

today your soul turns towards a classic sun set like a dog rose like a hybrid rose from china or like any other rose towards the night it exudes a fragrance it opens out in the darkness your soul flowers in its fashion

OFpApGpS OFpApGpG

if your soul your soul is a is a rose musk rose full of my love it must vitamin c – rubbish also prick me your soul is a from time to time rose that has come from the with its thorns’ himalayas or even small moonclaw from kashmir – rubbish so either your your soul is a soul is not hybrid rose spawned a rose by time and fate or i still have nonsense this exquisite torment your soul is my coming to me soul’s chosen one – correct

38 OFpFpApA OFpFpApF no your soul is neither a tree or a garden nor a rose painted by paul rather a garden as delvaux before you were in shelley’s poem born in which you where ‘the spirit of love walk around naked can be felt everywhere’ SENSI- with a paraffin TIVE PLANT lamp in your hand where i sleep in while i the shadows of silver clad in bowler hat and dream of you and city dress my love covertly observe you lying by my side from the bushes and dreaming of me of night and desire

OFpFpAP

there i walk around in blue corduroy among a thousand and one flowers there i pour out my joy and my pain there i fill up the abbasidian bowls to the brim there my love is fulfilled

OF F A S p p p OFpFpApG

perhaps a garden but also a with terraces cemetery garden coloured by the wind right in the city a garden that looks like where you one fine your parents’ day will lay where invisible jugs your wedding bouquet are filled with dew on another a garden where woman’s grave the sparrowhawk where you will consecrate suddenly this great swoops down intercourse that the while you expose dead really have on your heart to the roses their earthen mattress

39 OFpFpFpA OFpFpFpF

dear soul dear soul each time i is it you or approach you me who is sitting one you immediately quiet friday turn into two watching adam ant then three and then on the television? into many one or other each time i focus at any rate on you notices the razor blade you are dispersed like in the left ear lobe turquoise and amber and bloodstone one or other like arabic patterns registers this in a kaleidoscope observation et cetera

OFpFpFP

dear soul how are you to answer all these questions? that they are common that they are metaphysical wreckage i’m well aware of this without your derisive laughter without your i-know-better attitude without your cartesian ischias

OFpFpFpS OFpFpFpG

dear soul dear soul you cannot i repeat: enlighten yourself you are only illuminate unable certain states to explain or the body from yourself pate to heel’s in your entirety silver wings you you cannot do so do not exist in your before the advent self as fire cannot of death consume itself like and then love nothing is in it it is self cannot love itself precisely too late

40 OF F S F OFpFpSpA p p p

no your soul thus you will is not a garden always remain (with secret gold a stranger to me fish ponds) more a in your islamic dress park where the statues we shall never be united stand veiled behind (not even in death the accidents or in our children) where you show yourself because love just exactly as is not self-seeking i did not know because love you would look like does not down there at wish itself the end of truth because i love you

OFpFpSP

i will never exceed this distance of roses neither in the mind nor in reality why will i not do so? because love endures everything between us because love suffers because our love will never cease

OF F S G OFpFpSpS p p p

thus you will ‘down there at always remain the end of truth’ unknown to me i wrote – does the i will never lie begin there or find your soul’s faith in there where centre the sun’s target (only god knows that) hangs riddled i will never by the revolver catch up with you of my illusions even though does love only your footsteps begin where gleam i do not recognise anything with numian gold in your soul’s quincunx?

41 OFpFpGpA OFpFpGpF

dear soul dear soul ‘it is a crime i’m talking to you in love to the power seven to consider so there is an one’s own searching infinity of standing face to face with reflections between us what is being sought’ says an infinity of bayazid – if you now ‘I’s’ a whole field replace theory so it will ‘love’ with be extremely doubtful ‘the soul’ you have been if i will ever initiated into my receive any soul’s torments and yours answer from you

OFpFpGP

dear soul you look like a spiral staircase of turquoise that points in towards itself a spiral that turns from nothing down to nothing are you really only such an infinite fall towards matter down towards the body’s annihilation?

OF F G G OFpFpGpS p p p

dear soul dear soul is it you are you really who is kissing my wife just such a small or me here giddiness between at the beginning of green and orange are you the dogdays when nothing else than a the gate to nadir needle prick an imprint is wide open? on the sheet after a no i can’t death has even be bothered pythagoras discovered to hear the answer the ashes of reincarnation to this do you in reality only stupid question have this one urn?

42 OFpSpApA OFpSpApF

your soul can your soul can not see itself not see itself (for already mentioned reasons) (for the above reasons) not even in the not even on the depths of my soul’s strange black flag saudi-arabian desert of my poems i (where the wells have ought in principle sanded up and the (outside time) secret ponds are to be able to see it but can illegible from precisely not because the insects’ written characters) the soul can only be seen i am not your mirror from the inside by you yourself (covered over by myself) (via a semi-permeable)

OFpSpAP

your soul is set by love your soul can only see itself in love can only mirror itself in love’s invisible mirror because it itself is invisible in this world’s galerie des glaces

OF S A G OFpSpApS p p p

your soul can your soul can not see itself not see itself (for already advanced reasons) (compare with overleaf not even indirectly reasons) not even with a sidelong glance blindfolded into my eyes for example on your soul cannot the tarot card nine explain itself of swords – your (that would call soul is a for a postulate my love meta-soul et cetera) your soul’s invisibility your soul is a in which all the miracle my love visible appears

43 OF S F A p p p OFpSpFpF

my soul my soul it is late perhaps it is you night is falling who are tired blue as the koran and i who am to i feel tired go to bed now so you are to to dream about go to bed now that massada fort i hope i have just seen to meet you in on television the ka’ba of dreams perhaps it is or there where there we will our shadows’ quibli see each other again cross each other in herod’s synagogue?

OFpSpFP

my soul i know that you will betray me are you listening you will lay out your traps and cunning ambushes i actually know quite well you will entice me to leap from the cliff of sleep down into the pool of dreams

OF S F G OFpSpFpS p p p

my soul my soul (whatever that who is dreaming means as time goes on) who is exchanging right then: my soul the right and down there in left knee? the casemate even in dreams the can you hear me split takes place down there in your own (if in dreams you for flame-chamber: example interpret you have tired me out a dream) with your dialectic is it you nonsense you are to go to bed who are dreaming me now with me or vice versa?

44 OF S S A p p p OFpSpSpF

yes my yes my love your love your soul soul is like a is like a field field (completely (whiter than the wheel immoral with corn) of rye) ground swells waves of oats of innate wind under my indecency beneath only bend my breath so as to make love only settle down and only contain to rest one poppy under the cone of the sun with a finger when my shadow print blue with death unites with yours

OFpSpSP

yes my love your soul looks like a field (flaming with wheat of flowers of sulphur) burns off its straw just before noon and sends its columns of smoke up under the cherry trees up to god

OFpSpSpS OFpSpSpG

yes my no my love your soul love your soul is like a field is not like a field (immortal with barley here now while evening and yellow like van gogh’s is falling with its smell cadmium) your soul is of pubis i have larger than the space tried to confine you that marks it off in the metaphor from hedge to have tried in vain hedge larger to catch you in than time that counts rectangles of green and its short circuits yellow on the (between the harvest lightnings) potter’s field of this poem

45 OF S G F OFpSpGpA p p p

dear soul dear soul where does oblivion sit if you forget then in what distant i’ll remember image of withered roses among other things this does the trail get lost grave of words in which farthest inside i put you down on paper your nooks and crannies beneath the crossed (as in that poem damascene blades of the by eliot you summer solstice beneath have also almost forgotten) recollection’s stone of black i ask: writing like a loss of is oblivion another memory if you remember then gateway to eternity? i’ll forget dear soul

OFpSpGP

dear soul we will meet again we will meet sub rosa (in double confidence) we will meet on terraces larger than oblivion’s glass ones there will we meet tonight like two spectres we have a rendezvous there at precisely twelve o’clock

OF S G S p p p OFpSpGpG

dear soul dear soul i will tell you without a doubt you where in what are roaming round with region oblivion resides pregnant she-cats in it resides in former cemeteries the middle of the heart where there is a smell of (qalb) there where methyl and rotten apples love also you are probably puts down its making boundless love while vertical in this i read the incunabula world’s compass-rosecard of oblivion while precisely there i am still engrossed in does oblivion reside the poetry of ibn al ahnaf

46 OFpGpApA OFpGpApF

no beloved what is my soul like (for the umpteenth you ask time) your soul is i don’t know not of barley and not i reply of coptic wheat from time to time i get it is (as abu hafs a glimpse inside you writes) first and foremost of fountains darkness it is night of rose leaves smelling of atropin of vitriol and the mighty flowers of the plunging of the sex your soul is aquarides yes your soul dark as light deepest is perhaps like these shooting within itself stars inside my soul

OFpGpAP

is my soul like the note of a flute is it of the wind am i to search for it at night? – no that is not how you asked me about your soul about the nature of your soul no you did not ask such a stupid question about your soul – i have myself invented these questions without answer

OFpGpApS OFpGpApG

what colour your soul can does my soul have quite well have a cold you ask my love blue at night it can have a head-cold green in the daytime it can be in a draught i reply from the windows or but it is only from the wind blowing through the emanation of the ribs it can its own get wet from invisibility night rain – i deduce that does (not) show all of this from itself openly heraclites’ proposition that when you love me the soul dies dry in battle

47 OF G F F OFpGpFpA p p p

dear soul dear soul i can demonstrate that precisely the fact that you exist a system you exist that you (according to (in this case the word’s true meaning) the body) cannot stand out from (your own contain its own body) that you never description its own will be united with model the body can the same that you always be fully described will only relate to (i.a. as a model) from this your own face as fact you see your own a reflection shows that activity you see that i will never relinquish you you exist dear soul that we always belong together

OFpGpFP

dear soul my relationship to you (and my body) is negative in other words an abstract connection between body and soul is me i do not lie i lie perhaps i am not made of seconds i am double-glazing of nothing

OF G F S p p p OFpGpFpG

dear soul dear soul so we are in once more we have ended separable like moments are up in a maze of once they have passed black silver (behind mutant you and i roses) i am not who i saw is who you at all inside you saw is inseparable are we (or in the body) in our reciprocity like i am the negative the moon and its scar third which is (and it is not the body less than nothing i am talking about now) but more than something it is you and me in our i am high i am deep i am infinite reflection a somersault on paper

48 OF G S F OFpGpSpA p p p

yes my love your sudden your soul is black gloom is due neither from time to time black to black gall as joy division black nor your mars as a shoe-horn black neptune conjunction as friedrich’s ‘melan it is due to colie’ that hangs above your soul being too close my writing desk (most to your body poets either have that that light is thus or dürer’s hanging there) almost extinguished that is how i answer as when alloys your question if are decomposed you are melancholy to black silver

OFpGpSP

the position of the moon quickens your melancholy because your menstruation begins because the heart is heavier than usual because the blood is thicker than usual with copper because the body attracts its soul more than usual

OF G S S p p p OFpGpSpG

melancholy you are lined with is not an illness deerskin of the soul it is (yes writing that a state of is a load of piss) existence which but so soft are you means: it is a this evening when question of the snuff of melancholy the naked: that smokes between us you are in the world like an extinct family it is in a certain like a swedish charcoal stack sense a lack this evening when of insight we scarcely touch a lack of light each other with the soul

49 OFpGpGpA OFpGpGpF

mr soul mr soul you and i have now (votre serviteur) reached an agreement i am not your i am not inside better half and you are you and you are not inside not my shadow me i only administer (how would the connection between transparency you and your body be able to cast a shadow (like some sort of nothing) anywhere else than in so i will therefore not the imagination?) waste your time any more i am your familiar with analyses of my spirit but take care it innumerable reduplications could be the opposite

OFpGpGP

mr soul you are a scoundrel of the first water a villain parbleu by my socks you are a fool you laid in ambush played on my feelings on my heart you broke the marquis of queens bury’s rules you are ma foi a traitor monsieur

OFpGpGpS OFpGpGpG

mr soul mr soul it’s deadly earnest now who can win over you are challenged to an abstraction a duel meet me behind a nothing with Our Lady’s Church anything else than early tomorrow ineffectual gestures my seconds will i have ultimately be reason and logic language on my side you may choose weapons: just listen: i have the morning star of darkness defeated myself or the foil of light who is ‘myself’ i am sir you are yours faithfully etc etc my dear mr klutz

50 OApApApA OApApApF

the soul whispers it is an to me behind old song the night’s marienglas: mr soul i reply you are a out the corner wimp of my mouth you do not dare just suppose that be evil evil only exists what is all that for the sake of goodness nonsense you’re talking then your about goodness entire theory would it just turns out become an excuse to be an excuse for yourself for weakness a flight from yourself

OApApAP

the soul continues: your beloved’s soul is of such clarity of such carat that yours looks like a dirty window pane in comparison like an industrial diamond next to it – you are yourself this magic mirror clean it yourself – mr soul

OA A A S p p p OApApApG

listen furthermore the soul rejoins and mr soul it is twists up my privilege my spine like to add pain to the snake on an her joy in order to Aesculapius’s staff complete it can you really it has become my resist the temptation duty to whet to burn each intercourse on the your beloved’s russian edge of a samurai sword icon her soul (almost to the point of rape) which is so beautiful that so she can be it makes your eyes smart? united with death

51 OA A F A p p p OApApFpF

this morning your soul is i see (admittedly perhaps larger than mine with the inner contains without a doubt eye) your soul standing greater memories taut as a bow longer boxtree hedgerows of light like a of oblivion (small cones’ meridian between chevaux de frise along crown and pubis the suture of night) the sufis must have but my soul overlooked something on the other hand or other some accidents is heavier in woman’s mind than yours heavy i think befuddled with sleep as the cross in the moon

OApApFP

the soul has its longing for the close more than for the distant (the distant beloved etc) has its longing as a lack in existence (in the long nothing of distance) the soul misses its body

OApApFpS OApApFpG

your soul is perhaps your soul probably clearer is finer than than mine mine (in its open as a door out filigree) like onto the october sun’s lacework of dragon’s tail of smoke dawn that is hanging it is pure as the down over the heart seventh stage but my soul is but my soul is sharper than yours denser than yours can suddenly tear dense as thyme the tulle of your optimism dense as the dark your seventh veil with under our bed a single sword cut

52 OApApSpA OApApSpF

mr soul mr soul october has arrived shall we go out with its shut-down to the cemetery iron foundry its where summer rusty ovens let us is lowering its lance lay down our weapons let towards the sunset’s us walk outside together closed visor and look at the stars shall we go out there falling like chestnuts together and consult between us – you and i the dead – who will die and our body must surely by the way when that be able to cool our time comes at some point hostility in all this splendour you or i?

OApApSP

mr soul in reality this is due to the fact that i base existence on a second relation vertical to the first therefore you will meet death while i will be redeemed while i will merely find the way home

OA A S S p p p OApApSpG

mr soul mr soul out here we can this phenomenon not conceal we can call decreation the truth in or immanation autumn’s livery where light lights you will die into itself sir where light leaves behind you will follow ‘the world’ (which means the body to the landscape you and your of silver and primroses body mr soul) while i can in absolute darkness not die because i in short: where light have never lived abandons you to death

53 OA A G F OApApGpA p p p

my love so that the ob perhaps it is server (his proximity with the soul as or distance) with death influences the object and the closer we get vice versa – in a different to it the more way: that you close to can incomprehensible it not foresee the soul in its becomes in its wholeness and far from transparency in its cannot see it with unforeseeability sufficient clarity like the phenomena in this paradox of the spirit one reading we could call of complementarity the soul’s valentine to us

OApApGP

my love perhaps the soul is like love a fata morgana in itself perhaps the soul needs another soul with wings of red salt with wings of tulip petals to be mature perhaps the soul first finds its reality in another soul

OA A G G OApApGpS p p p

my love my love perhaps it is with perhaps it is the soul as with with the soul as a poem: once with the snow in april: it has been the sun melts written down it in five seconds it is too late and like it once you have sinks into the ground observed the soul the soul withdraws it is too late into its because it darkness has already been (its hell) changed by the look at every angel’s light

54 OApFpApA OApFpApF

dear soul dear soul you are obviously then you come in obliged to get at two o’clock with me drunk a loaded pistol in order to and threaten me extend the boundaries or you challenge of your territory me for at my expense example but then you sweep to challenge you in over me but who like a tiger’s claw has then of foam a wave the real copyright cut of hokusai to fear?

OApFpAP

dear soul you are afraid of becoming pure soul that is nothing without my intervention (my mediateness) that is the definition of fear you are scared stiff of not being able to come to yourself/your self

OA F A S p p p OApFpApG

dear soul dear soul at that moment the soul alone in you are a tom-cat the world then you take without its body and over completely without me (as in then you rip four the republic of dreams) poems to bits and what a frightful rant and rave chapter in but it is your fear your diary just admit it is you that you are unable who deep down to do without me are afraid that you would miss me of losing me that i am your condition

55 OA F F F OApFpFpA p p p

(the book of dreams) how was i what did this to cross this image have to do bridge of cross-stitch with your soul between you and me the peacock that stood would it not in the foreground be a mistake greener than even to break the balance the equinox as if even though the castle it had been embroidered in the background with silk gleamed more clearly than was it really keeping isfahan would the guard at some union of the souls threshold or other? precisely not be perdition

OApFpFP

i went on as usual i looked at the four roses bright red as the blood of cherubs in early morning i drew a circle round you and my soul touched yours like a tangent purer than that of geometry

OApFpFpS OApFpFpG

why did the clouds what did this hang low like woven carpet have to do frozen vegetables with your soul why were they whiter why did i than the cotton that notice the water lilies they were sewn from whiter than a did they symbolise mandala and the forest edge a loss of memory barbed like jealousy? or only themselves it was perhaps was i to see beauty that caused me them as the soul’s to make frost-bite or this comparison – go on as usual? beauty yes

56 OA F S A p p p OApFpSpF

my soul my soul what more do you want what more do you want than this desire than this life to complete so rich in pain another soul where you and in so doing yourself have found your what more do you other half want than what more do you want this light that comes than this down from the sky wholeness more beautiful like corten steel and lovely in the fourth plate than ‘der tod of mutus liber? und das mädchen’?

OApFpSP

my soul we call you ‘mind’ ‘psyche’ – ‘butterfly’ indeed for many reasons as in a surrealist film but what else are we to do (you lovely swan etc) when you are precisely intangible and inexpressible?

OA F S G OApFpSpS p p p

my soul my soul what more do you want what more do you want than this than this other soul second that that is only is like a hundred separated from you years what more do by one single you want my soul lit than this candle and moment that but a between december’s single puff last roses full would of snow and unite you with? incomprehensibility?

57 OA F G F OApFpGpA p p p

my soul my soul it is not of course it is myself you that i i catch capture in the mesh in the poem’s net of the poem nor of concepts the body nor (abstractum passion in abstracto) (who can catch the rest is a snowstorm?) grasping and the poem here is ex mirroring clusively my work or the rest written on my is silence own squared paper in-expression

OApFpGP

my soul like a beggar you come to me what shall i help you with? i cannot write much more than myself down i can really only describe you my soul

OA F G G OApFpGpS p p p

my soul my soul that means which in turn means that the poem is that the poem is the i’s the i’s butterfly (the infinite the net (the concepts) infinite reflection) for catching de-termination itself and grasping that the poem is the i’s ‘the world’ in writing itself down that the poem is the i’s in finitude (the abstract) in the writing’s massive placing itself above drought of signs and or back in concepts that the poem the writing (the concrete) is the blitz of the moment

58 OA S A A p p p OApSpApF

my soul my soul the i cannot since this is catch cannot the case what then is grasp itself the poem first and foremost? because no one it is the i’s is able covered moments by himself to (from the point where it comprehend his wholeness abstracted itself) before he is dead down into the lobster and then he pot of concepts can precisely into the writing’s not grasp it this concreto it is must be obvious the i’s dead-man’s handle

OApSpAP

my soul that must be enough by now dammit more than enough i admit that i am in the process of speculating you to death i have almost lost you i have almost done for you my soul

OApSpApS OApSpApG

my soul my soul in reality the poem i propose that is of course we get together here much more than round this teak table this pain this (at the mind’s latitude) small cerebral haemorrhage and discuss a at its height cease-fire the poem is the downstroke i give you of the eternal in temporality the syllogisms at its height if you give me the poem is the archetypes a coup de grâce do you agree to sic! messieurs les poètes! that exchange?

59 OApSpFpA OApSpFpF

the soul showed me you are lying on your stomach this image in the madder lake of the this morning: half-shadows (as a titian you are lying stark would have painted you) naked on a damask with your sex gaping upholstered sofa like a death-mask your legs wide open is it your soul is it your soul or is it only or is it my rudiments from soul’s anima smoking surrealism’s with nitrogen perhaps it classical period is just a vague memory i can see in my of a tarot card? cranium’s laterna magica?

OApSpFP

the soul pulls this image up out of memories’ top hat: you are lying there on silk looking like a demi-monde in a film by bunuel on the skin of your back i can see a small invisible wound is it your soul that’s bleeding?

OApSpFpS OApSpFpG

your head the only thing is hidden from me that does not fit beneath a drapery is the rococo sofa i consider if i push your right shoulder the image in over blade’s embryo wing and reality like find myself a slide with thinking of nike from you in focus samothrake: it fits the goddess of victory your figure down to is your soul then the smallest details only a headless so it is statue in me? not an archetype

60 OApSpSpA OApSpSpF

tableau no two: you do not look like you are standing in a lucia di lammermoor church with seven or a sculpture red roses in of metal (for example your hand i can see that cast by shadow) your ivory-coloured your dress is white shoes fit and reaches down to your foot exactly your knees which just as in are not curved the fairytale and from rickets you really have a you look quite halo round normal there the hair’s shampoo wash in the ellipse of light

OApSpSP

my soul you are cheating why are you hiding false cards up your sleeve with motifs from libavius’ works this image really depicts my love in a wedding gown i can compare it with the photograph here as easily as anything with reality there

OApSpSpS OApSpSpG

your eyes my soul look in such a blue you do not show me and naughty way at me any more of your that my heart secrets (at most a goes fluxus niche with a black even now here where bust of adlercreutz) i am only looking at your caustic soda this image has been used up it is inside the head’s i who now show aristotle lamp you images from this ‘the world of reality’ wedding picture with my electronic flash in a sky-blue frame (das kleine fünklein)

61 OApSpGpA OApSpGpF

my soul my soul you are finished now what about that which means red admiral that i am that you are grown-up now writing into the poem the time of fairytales more beautiful than its is past symbol you might ask no more princesses i answer you in chains and knights in my own way on white horses it is only my no more piss-mark the seal butterflies that of my immortality re-form themselves it is my or flesh to word copyright to this poem

OApSpGP

my soul why i am writing this to you is easy to understand you are grown-up now (with all your faults) yourself now (on the head of a pin) the rest is my business in a certain way you cannot transform yourself any more

OA S G S p p p OApSpGpG

my soul my daimon as teresa writes: there you are borne by the small butterfly the night is dead now there you bear it no longer the day on your wings flies around there it has on the edge of vision become your task like a gaspard to atone light de la nuit with darkness it has found there you have lost love under its centre’s yourself there you burning-glass it is have become me united with god my butterfly

62 OApGpApA OApGpApF

my soul my soul you will surely which of us take revenge on me is dreaming which of us because i have is the butterfly led you out of in chuang tzu’s dream? your dark caverns if we two (where you sat were both bound for so long) each other’s dream because i have then we would pulled you out of also be your cave allegory real out under the sun’s both of us my sudden drumbeat beautiful red admiral

OApGpAP

my soul even dreams have to be managed they call for solicitude precisely because they can not be the element (as a class) of their own class without paradoxical consequences therefore you are now my butterfly to fly between their blind busts

OApGpApS OApGpApG

my soul my butterfly this insight there you are to lay calls however your eggs of light (as in chuang tzu’s on the island of the graces narrative) for a waking (by wiedewelt) state it calls for there you are to hover a third eye outside of over the bunsen burner sleep and dream of pain on the wings namely me ergo i am of your happiness the one awake my soul and there you are to celebrate i can therefore and serve serenely send you back love there to the realm of dreams you have your final home

63 OApGpFpA OApGpFpF

my soul my soul chuang tzu dreamt i have made you the butterfly and not into a dream vice versa precisely because you are that butterfly the butterfly (as in that sought the light the narrative) was never to be consumed awake and the problem and the light was so the would therefore not have been sleeping one woke up able to arise it is easy and realised that you to see that if you first have were a dream a got lost in the labyrinths real dream you otherwise will run into between the assyrian

(see OApGpFpAP-S) poppies of illusion

OApGpFP

my soul illusions greater than the poem kisses without pain the shadows of silhouettes you saw them extinguished them in the flames’ english salt when i woke the dream is fulfilled

OA G F S p p p OApGpFpG

my soul my soul you were my dream anna quast broke of myself the rules when she that butterfly painted: still life that dreamed the light with butterfly it was to this is an perish in emblem you too when i opened my eyes broke the rules when and knew that you realised i too was your longing when you only a spark of flew out of your a much larger own nature morte more and purer fire beautiful than any dream

64 OA G S A p p p OApGpSpF

well then my soul well then my soul (as grundtvig writes) we have met we’ve had quite enough each other under the winter of all that butterfly solstice’s anemone nonsense you have we have met unfolded your own wings each other at the centre and been united where it hurts with god because light so now be glad uncovers celebrate christmas every nook and cranny in david’s city i.e. there where i.e. your you spilt innermost jerusalem the salt of your youth

OApGpSP

well then my soul this is perhaps a presumption but were we to believe less or are we to believe more than that is belief in actual fact not like love without boundaries belief is neither a more or less is it not absolute?

OA G S S p p p OApGpSpG

well then my soul well then my soul the snow is falling here when i wrote like ash from in a dream: the stars but eliot is in paradise we know better and when pound wrote we know that it some place else: is a great le paradis n’est pas loving-kindness that artificiel what is being granted us can be deduced from that it is the rose petals this cryptic of the holy spirit syllogism? more than that are slowly filling enough i have nothing else the vessel of the heart to say right now

65 OApGpGpA OApGpGpF

what became of your your soul and soul in the meantime my soul are not one my love they are added together in what words did i to a greater oneness hold it captive in than the number one what white or vice versa as in parenthesis of the algebra of infinity: christianity did i that infinite plus hold one infinite still half from only remains infinite the other so your soul and mine even your body of meet in a point of nakedness became alien? a second cardinality

OApGpGP

your soul stood at the centre motionless like a heron held me fast in myself your soul stood in sleep’s diamond so i could walk in my sleep without getting lost in the chinese silk of dreams

OA G G S p p p OApGpGpG

there i held you there we woke up fast in the poem’s together under the crown of moment my love the mulberry white as an if i cut myself electroshock on the light eye to eye soul to you bled soul almost as in if you hit paul’s epistle and we yourself in the dark knew that the rest was i cried out a question of there i held you managing the eleven fast in the name kilos of love of love (in the third that god had coordinate of pain) assigned us in the flesh

66 OSpApApA OSpApApF

dear soul dear soul we are on the therefore it can other side – not either of what? be me the moon-mountain of poetry on the other shame side of myself or the mirrors of darkness? i can hardly it cannot be there be you (on a male dromedary since no one for example) can be because i on the other side and me are strictly of oneself speaking the same

OSpApAP

dear soul i can on the one hand be said to be beside myself or outside myself is language playing with itself or is it cheating both me and itself?

OS A A G OSpApApS p p p

dear soul dear soul we could find ourselves a jigsaw puzzle together on the can be right far side of piece by piece tiger mountain number by number or the yellow river there may also be but it is our four pieces or mutual relationship one piece finally missing (the displacement between and lastly us) that i am trying there may be one to map piece too many: not our relation presumably to ‘the world’ our problem

67 OSpApFpF OSpApFpA

dear soul dear soul language does not lie language does not lie when i say: when i say: ‘i see myself in the mirror’ ‘i hit myself on the foot’ language shows directly the process of objectivity the image of existence is shown directly: that that the i constantly the i relates shoots itself out to me (body and soul) like a space capsule from that the i constantly the body (or a stag shoots itself out from the soul) that the i from a past (perhaps only constantly stands out from by a tenth of as the signifier of existence a second) which then is me

OSpApFP

dear soul in this poem i am now writing down on the paper language is also writing itself – it writes with language in language writes itself forward behind the words should it lie? language is neither true nor false perhaps it merely demonstrates

OS A F G OSpApFpS p p p

dear soul dear soul language does not lie language does not lie when i say: when i say ‘i’ll buy myself a lion ‘århus is made of brass’ from iran next year’ it is my (this is an imaginary own lie example) language shows when i say directly that there is ‘i am be a re-ference side myself’ (a schism) between language is only the i and the me and replying to why in all the world what i am claiming should grammar lie? at the same moment

68 OSpApSpA OSpApSpF

dear soul dear soul perhaps the over ‘überstehen ist alles’ stepping is not logical rilke writes (from A to B) to wolf graf von and not causal kalckreuth (as between copper and that is the verdigris) perhaps the over opposite of an stepping is not overstepping even mental rather a kind of purple (from the heart to the night) of the heart in honour the overstepping of the dead it is not that i am speaking of is that path we two have of a different nature i think taken together

OSpApSP

dear soul the overstepping has no metaphysics in the usual sense no connections of a secret nature (as max ernst’s paintings) there is no raven in its seal it is not of gold it does not take place to the right it does not occur through a hollow alder

OSpApSpS OSpApSpG

dear soul dear soul crossover is a the crossover is not better word here at all illogical (no bridge leads than overstepping from A to –A) at any rate i prefer or random (as to use it the connection between from now on ‘mouth’ and ‘elbow’ for because this action example) i do not really springs more from know how i am to an act of will than from express it – perhaps necessity with these words: the cross even though in the last over is paradoxical like a instance it is incomprehensible solo by ornette coleman

69 OSpApGpA OSpApGpF

beloved beloved between you and me between you and me there are no books there are no cold about roses no sores no pictures concerts by keith of mont martre in the rain jarrett between me and from your soul to mine you there is no there are no streets night are no mornings not even ryesgade street from you to me from my heart to yours there are no pergolas there are no saxophones no dreams about light not even coltrane’s between us quite simply: between us quite simply: nothing nothing

OSpApGP

beloved the aces of spades does not lie between us between our hearts there are no telling looks from you to me as in operas almost deadly there is nothing from you to me between us quite simply: nothing

OS A G G OSpApGpS p p p

beloved beloved between you and me from your heart to mine there is no grey there is no path no wish-stone with gallery of mirrors holes in no cigarette from my soul to yours paper from your soul to there is not a millimetre mine there are no tele not the fraction of a phones no pedestrian second because there is no crossings between my distance are no heart and yours there is no times in the absolute apple core no seventh between us quite simply: veil between us quite nothing simply: nothing except god

70 OSpFpApF OSpFpApA

dear soul dear soul crossover has i have crossed over of course something and you have gone under to do with (I took the going under just as descant high-road and and base belong together you took the going under also low-road and leads to a far I was in scotland side (not of a afore you) long chinese wall) to this region that is greener greener than than even even the thistles’ scotland the dreams’ ben nevis

OSpFpAP

dear soul ‘the broken heart it kens nae second spring’ as we now do closer than before as we two meet each other again on the bank of sortedam lake which lies like a birth mark darker than all tears

OS F A S p p p OSpFpApG

dear soul dear soul the lovers probably the crossover is never met in that of course deep song ‘on the bonnie down from you to me bonnie banks o’ loch a change of thrones lomond’ as has taken place we two now do by decree but this evening as you know in the four hundred all decisions are and seventy just as incomprehensible seventh poem after at the time of their separation’s execution as gold and babylonian year the all sorrow’s thistles

71 OS F F F OSpFpFpA p p p

dear poet dear poet i am obviously it could to be a second-rate conceivably also actor a be vice versa deus ex machina i.e. that you in your performance are merely my mouthpiece a raindrop or my ventriloquist’s dummy a rose petal in a puppet your fragrant garden in the theatre of my says the soul secrets as its smile have you thought is crookedly reflected of that on my lips obvious possibility?

OSpFpFP

dear soul you are almost the whole (plus my body) so that i am basically only the helmsman (kybernetes) i am with all respect only a small vessel a trireme on your seven mighty seas

OS F F S p p p OSpFpFpG

dear soul dear soul in reality i am not i am as you even of course know: nothing present always an abstraction a fraction ahead that binds you of existence and the body together always shot out (reflections in an of the now’s amethyst) so white carnation there is nobody i am always out (mr nobody) and about too early to act with i am really or instruct a mr nobody

72 OS F S F OSpFpSpA p p p

dear soul dear soul not a commodore 64 propositio: a but a copy cat computer a coral (a fictive computer of vast brand) full of capacity where bits ram bytes my body (thighs blood nails and whatever and brain etc) are else they are known as the hardware and you full of infinite my soul (with your loops and images of snakes etc) feedback mechanisms are the software or whatever let me then they are called be the control unit

OSpFpSP

dear soul a computer with emotions as variables inside the storage a computer as large as love i ask you to take part in this intellectual experiment for your own sake

OSpFpSpS OSpFpSpG

dear soul dear soul propositio: the world’s perhaps not an largest computer impossibility in itself man as but impossible computer with to think life death magenta or imagine and foeticide because the thinking person built into the programs cannot be completely contained imagine in the system he such a construction thinks – because he i ask you cannot think to imagine yourself himself as included in as such a computer the totality of the system

73 OS F G A p p p OSpFpGpF

dear soul dear soul there it is again there it is again this little i this little nothing which not even that not even with the brute force with metaphysics of the devil or or with higher god’s help can be logic can pressed into its be placed in its own system the own totality the ridiculousness that it brazen cheek that it absolutely must sit absolutely must see itself in the kennel separated from its hand outside the meissner castle from its legs and buttocks

OSpFpGP

dear soul the bagatelle of the i is not much larger than a comma in the finished poem in the great epic and maybe the work has into the bargain been written without any commas whatsoever but the poet nevertheless stumbles over precisely this comma

OSpFpGpS OSpFpGpG

dear soul dear soul there it is again there it is again this little abstraction existence’s standing that not even out from existence’s with political tricks small crack in the base or with police of the porcelain batons can be pressed that not even life can into its own close or burn concretion the together again with its foolishness that it own death the stupidity that absolutely must stay it must shoot itself out in freedom outside of its umbra the necessity of history of its own biology

74 OS S A A p p p OSpSpApF

dear soul dear soul if you place a in principle you can piece of paper make an index on the table in front of you of the whole world and you try (the universe when it comes to describe to that) down to the smallest the table detail (an archimedes’ on this paper screw for example) you can you will have difficulties even introduce dead you will soon realise this: persons (sheik nafzawi the description of the paper for example) the only thing you of the paper of cannot include the paper never stops is precisely your index

OSpSpAP

dear soul i ex-sist life you sit inside life i am out in the cold i exist in reality myself out at a constant distance you in-sist in a certain way into the magic circle

OS S A G OSpSpApS p p p

dear soul dear soul in principle i can it is i hope see through everything clear from the about you your night side above that for example where a system cannot the cherry trees of sorrow contain its shed their blossoms own explanation of snow (i re that in its totality it peat in principle) can only be understood from outside the only thing and it is that which that i can existence in its not see through constant overstepping is myself the now is all about

75 OSpSpFpA OSpSpFpF

my soul my soul i wrote that you you do not want to come in-sist out of hiding you (stand into) want to remain in your what do you insist body’s kamasutra on? – you stand you do not want to risk firm on what is yours that feeling of guilt and you do not want to be shame that me – yourself existence this is involves you want the first to live in the desert salt and of the two your blood’s happiness despairs you do not want to be free

OSpSpFP

my soul you want to escape the effort of existing which for natural reasons cannot be done – hence the despair you want to vegetate – you want necessity you want as your body: forget me therefore you despair

OSpSpFpS OSpSpFpG

my soul my soul you do not want to you want to be rid of assume the burden of the relationship you want existence to be rid of yourself you most want to live you want to be rid of without conscience the abstraction (i.e. without knowledge your want yourself of the totality) enough but you most want to that is not enough just live since you cannot you do not want to be do without precisely human but me a kind of vegetable (your existence)

76 OSpSpSpA OSpSpSpF

my soul my soul i on the contrary only i only want my want to exist self want to explain want to be out of everything myself i want i want to be out to create myself of you and my body by a kind of (i want in a sense judo hold i want to be out of my head) to pull myself up so as to be able by the hair i to explain am trying like an earthworm everything to eat myself that is the second of from one end the two despairs to the other

OSpSpSP

my soul in short: i cannot be an explanation to myself i can explain the system (of my body and soul) relatively but not explain myself (existence) absolutely it is despair basically to want to try this at the conclusion

OSpSpSpS OSpSpSpG

my soul my soul on the one hand: if my life is i cannot completely thus not a system it is get outside the totality inexplicable (in (as you have seen principle) and if demonstrated so clearly) it is a system it is on the other hand: also inexplicable i cannot because i cannot explain the same step outside myself totality from the inside cannot completely step outside (which has been my totality demonstrated equally clearly) (my concretion) that is the despair without losing existence

77 OSpSpGpA OSpSpGpF

my soul my soul it is at this so as to avoid any point in my misunderstanding i poem that i must must state at this point fall back on god that it is not as an explanation only my life but of my life life as such god as the completely (generally) i am seeking externally existing to elucidate am seeking an and absolutely different explanation of who for precisely that reason my life is merely could explain my a random representative forty-seven-year-old life of life

OSpSpGP

my soul i will not try out of ignorance or absent-mindedness to prove god’s existence to you – existence can naturally not be proved either in logic in metaphysics or in reality that is clear since demonstrandum would be preassumed

OSpSpGpS OSpSpGpG

my soul my soul this means nor can i ever on the one hand prove to you that the problem applies that a moroccan to all humanity leather saddle or and on the other a lydian war horse hand that the problem exists but that applies to each single what exists individual even though this is a moroccan individual should happen to be leather saddle the only one on or a lydian the earth or in the universe war horse quod for that matter erat demonstrandum

78 OSpGpApA OSpGpApF

my soul my soul rejoice – yea rejoice rejoice – yea stop at the all reflections magnificent and and speculations inexplicable wonder in the blue quartz that life is of error at the last and the decision rises utmost cause in the east like at the absolute a sun over the and other condition scrub of conclusion which is just as you are to place inexplicable your innermost ear as you are yourself to the miracles of the word

OSpGpAP

my soul rejoice – like a muezzin at his prayer rest like the she-camel in the desert therefore you do not have to explain yourself any more in your inexplicability therefore you shall rejoice in the vibrato of your silence

OSpGpApS OSpGpApG

my soul my soul rejoice – and believe rejoice in the inexplicable ‘pull down thy that explains you vanity, paquin the utmost cause the green casque outside you has outdone the absolutely different your elegance’ outside you you cannot that you explain yourself cannot by means of yourself reject either in yourself by since you already yourself ‘pull are related to it down thy vanity’

79 OSpGpFpA OSpGpFpF

my soul my soul be content desist from the hassle with the light of life from and the paraffin all your opinions of darkness about this and that let let them burn in fickleness the secret bonfire of perish in tall the second fire as atlantic mirrors in an emerald there where you there where horizontal have collected yourself crosses vertical with me as a resign yourself to second silence this sighting cross desist my soul

OSpGpFP

my soul give yourself up to the night and to the day give yourself up to the incomprehensibility of the paradox that is more than enough give way to the sun as the snow in march my soul

OSpGpFpS OSpGpFpG

my soul my soul give way give yourself up that is enough even though no one can give way to give himself up without love being a self like the snowdrop and the self is first give way to gain by the act of giving the wind in march give yourself in beneath bow to this paradox love as whiter than an the snowdrop apostle’s hair bows to the rain give in to the give way my soul innermost waterfalls inside you

80 OSpGpSpA OSpGpSpF

my soul my soul forget your worries let others dance by the thousand to which a peacock dance there is no other on the pinnacle of honour answer than swarms of midges let others simply let a new erasmus explain everything prove his own (i.e. nothing) existence as long as let others simply we two can meet find the solution to each other in everything in each other and the garden of prohibition in by each other we two will a proximity that has not though even so set itself only redeem each other

OSpGpSP

my soul walk with me across the gleaming bridges of spring leap with me out of the head then we will seek the heart then we will find the heart instead let us together find heartland

OSpGpSpS OSpGpSpG

my soul my soul what is man this crossover if not we can ourselves division decide we have and overstepping to wait for it like it to unity paul had to wait which is inexplicable for his chronic light without god near damascus and with god let us therefore do which nevertheless without busyness and is just as every form of business real as that faith let us erect in which it is grounded our tent in silence

81 OSpGpGpA OSpGpGpF

my soul my soul the tiny spot turn around in the brain rough long enough you have with sandpaper where travelled westwards there no moon shines where all questions leave it end like lemmings the barren tree-circle at the sea of thought dry with there where ochre where no all meanings shadow falls disappear like among the cones of insects in the box tree leave the silence it my soul turn around my soul

OSpGpGP

my soul only submit to love bend down over me with your shadow of umbra i need your wing of chitin against the brightest light while i am waiting here

OSpGpGpS OSpGpGpG

my soul my soul fall down (not lean in over necessarily flat on your face) yourself kneel in the evening’s in over the red salt double paradox of i.e. on your centre from which the border of the juniper smoke rises reason there as from distant where you both mountain plateaus are outside and inside lean in close to over the last the place where you letters missing have always been from your name

82 OGpApApA OGpApApF

my soul my soul it is precisely here it is precisely here that the smallest that the smallest occurrence can tremor can radically radically change change ‘the world’ ‘the world’ here in the catalogue here at the utmost of pain’s position point of exertion no twenty-three unnoticed by unnoticed by others as when others as when a rose petal a drop of blood falls from the corolla falls from the heart somewhere or other somewhere or other

OGpApAP

my soul it is precisely here on the line sore as a nerve stretched out between the towers of existence tighter than a steel wire it is precisely here that only the trust of decision can save you

OGpApApS OGpApApG

my soul my soul it is precisely here it is precisely here that the least that the least wavering can doubt can radically change radically change ‘the world’ ‘the world’ here at the innermost here above the seventy centre of existence thousand fathoms of the abyss unnoticed by unnoticed by others as when others as when a person an angel falls from god falls from the star somewhere or other somewhere or other

83 OGpApFpA OGpApFpF

my soul my soul what would i what would i do anyway with all do anyway with more those dreams about notions of hedge violets bluer siberian crab apples when than the binnacles’ they are falling will o’the wisp when out there more the hedge violets of reality real than (the real ones) reality itself surpass every dream when they are falling all the hedge violets so ripe of the imagination that right do not even have a scent down into my poem

OGpApFP

my soul the power of the imagination but those things imagined do not flower do not wither they fade endlessly like tapestries by jan raes or like the frescoes on plastered walls those things imagined are precisely immortal from lack of life

OGpApFpS OGpApFpG

my soul my soul why should i dreams are also harbour any more illusions real – as about the nape of dreams – a teeny my love’s neck for example weeny part of when i only what there is need to bend i do not know over and kiss it? why i no thank you – no should restrict more dreams my existence for me i so unreasonably to prefer to dare almost nothing the inconveniences of reality all power to reality

84 OGpApSpA OGpApSpF

my soul my soul it is not facts it is not some as such that external occurrence i am currying or other and far from favour with: ‘this ivy any internal around that window occurrence i am trying in the dusk’ for example to grasp but it is the the occurrence all at fact illuminated once in a single glance by another sun this can only the brief instant be done by in the balancing act i my relating am seeking to prolong to the other light

OGpApSP

my soul this has its explanation in the fact that everything is explained has died its ‘death’ that what has been explained is no longer present in ‘the world’ that existence is the opposite of explanation

OGpApSpS OGpApSpG

my soul my soul because otherwise i so that the trans would constantly figuration during be getting in the way a lifetime (at least) with my i in an must come from somewhere else endless reflection from another sun of this i (otherwise you would because this i be dead) and cannot by itself the rest now is only and with itself profiles silhouettes enter into (paintings by karel the magic circle van manders) the rest of the whole now is only shadows

85 OGpApGpA OGpApGpF

my soul my soul it is a new you will not be optics a able to see the difference new point of view even though everything on ‘the world’ nevertheless is nothing else different than unpacking just as a waking the mountain massif state is quite of al majaj-mir different from from the transparent that dream which down plastic that a Christo to the smallest could have detail wrapped it in resembles reality

OGpApGP

my soul this is the crossover from one reality to another to another light clearer than the eye’s it is in principle inexplicable because it itself is the explanation or the very transfiguration

OGpApGpS OGpApGpG

my soul my soul you will be unable this state to read your way to does not apparently the difference in some differ in love poem the slightest from your ‘where the eagles everyday life but hover high correspondingly so much above bliss’ more in the invisible because the words it is that state are precisely which elsewhere the same even though in is symbolised by the transference they the diamond mean something quite different glittering in a skull

86 OGpFpApA OGpFpApF

my soul my soul three possibilities the second path is are now given – the the state (of first has fallen dying from ‘the world’) back on the old like a bird ‘world’ (and by of iron on its needle ‘world’ is meant: that constantly sings the wholeness of existing) at the light because you view the that cannot be seen above-described state the light that as nonsense (‘stewed no longer apples’ in other words) sees ‘the world’ this is the path of indignation this is the path of renunciation

OGpFpAP

my soul in the interests of truth it must be mentioned that a fourth path (with certain reservations) leads on from this position at H perhaps i ought not to name it because it explodes ‘the world’ more than an orgasm this is the path of dislocation

OGpFpApS OGpFpApG

my soul my soul the third is i know that a reunion with ‘the world’ knowledge is one thing in the light and that living it of the other sun is something else the third i am not saying that possibility is a i have lived through coming to ‘the world’ one of these red paths that in a way does not from morning to evening look any different (only in brief moments) but you look but that i know in differently i soon this is the path of promise will do so

87 OGpFpFpA OGpFpFpF

my soul my soul this is the axis this is a tree of round which existence phosphorus that gleams turns and turns itself neither for the inner an axis that nor the outer eye crosses the plane and but by means of which they see the planes a thread a tree around which finer than nubian the year also turns gold in which and the dead sea scrolls ‘the world’ is suspended of the stars and depends on there where just eternity call it touches finitude ‘the world tree’

OGpFpFP

my soul this other light refracts against ‘the world’ like a prism or like a convex lens even though ‘the world’ tries to straighten it out even though ‘the world’ tries to straighten out with window glass ‘the world’ does not care for the fact that eternity refracts

OGpFpFpS OGpFpFpG

my soul my soul by enduring and this is the in existence difference that you will ensure ‘the world’ tries to make that your this eternal indiffer centre is aflame ent to itself that small flame by straightening already mentioned that it out so its it gets oxygen and breath rays are not gathered enough not to in the celluloid be extinguished of your centre where they that small ‘fünklein’ otherwise would ignite referred to elsewhere a fire clearer than fire

88 OGpFpSpA OGpFpSpF

my soul my soul light’s five-pointed star light’s seven-pointed star is stretched out in you to is lit in you all corners of the like a candlestick elements standing at the centre of it is: pain gravity of the elements it is: love which actually is the it is: suffering converse which actually is it is: death lightest which actually and the root of the songs does not exist (you do not that reach deeper find what you have) which is down i.e. more an acquisition now to dark’s five-pointed star of dark’s seven-pointed star

OGpFpSP

my soul it is called being or it is called tantra i say – yes i say it is not so i say that it is a state of a different kind it is in reality only of god

OGpFpSpS OGpFpSpG

my soul my soul this means in this means in turn another language that that you cannot the relationship has yourself induce become positive this state this means in you have precisely a greener dialect to depend on it (in all that existence has senses of this fantastic become quite concrete word) even this means in if it occurs another secret key you must depend on its that the i no longer having occurred on its gets in its own light not being an illusion

89 OGpFpGpA OGpFpGpF

my soul my soul evening is drawing in if you now think undefinable like you have understood a chord from this you are john dowland’s lute wrong it is precisely i can’t be bothered to waste the incomprehensible time any more the inconceivable i can’t be bothered to i am trying to analyse the variations grant you of silence nor with the aid does the syntax of lightning of these words’ interest me i am strange and at other crossroads of light peculiar paradoxes

OGpFpGP

my soul i am tired of this discourse tired of my monologue – tired yes i will not disturb you any more i am not going to look any more into the meander edges of your labyrinth i mean: i have found the way out of myself

OGpFpGpS OGpFpGpG

my soul my soul if i now think like the archer that i have that laid aside understood it his bow when he i am wrong had mastered it no one – no one i now lay in the whole world all this behind me in the whole universe because i understand (which i have made clear that i will above) never come to is able understand it with to understand my reason because or explain himself i master it

90 OGpSpApA OGpSpApF

my soul my soul i have scarcely i have mainly lifted a corner occupied myself of your black dress with the reason scarcely studied and come to the simple your top-left result that the corner-field it would reason naturally seem i have cannot understand mainly considered itself – that was ‘the i’ when it cleaved presumably like a saracen’s sword not much but in you my soul reality is even from your body more than enough

OGpSpAP

my soul this goes beyond reason is the real crossover to the heart’s heraldry (i.e. three leopards and nine hearts) it is basically only reason that does away with itself

OGpSpApS OGpSpApG

my soul my soul it is enough: so you have thus because it is an gone beyond yourself insight and not by undergoing an understanding a transformation it is more: you have arrived at because it is precisely the place where you a peephole have always been into the eternal it sounds like a that eye of the needle movement on the that only the swallows spot but is fly the movement of movement effortlessly through understand it whoever can

91 OGpSpFpA OGpSpFpF

my soul my soul i have not come up i have not contributed with any new with any new problems they have solutions only been known given a couple of hints from the outset with the aid of i have simply presented symbolic images them in a different (like the lighter’s flame way arranged them that is sought by more poetically like the butterfly etc.) an ikebana i have i have not loosened raked the japanese sand the gordian knot just garden a little differently cut it in two again

OGpSpFP

my soul the rose has no solution in itself flowers at the right time according to its nature as the poet writes it so precisely it only knows resolution in pure and utter fragrance it is as here life’s ex libris

OGpSpFpS OGpSpFpG

my soul my soul the answer is not it is the either that there same movement is no solution that takes place when because there has never understanding gives up been any problem its understanding it is a no longer stands philosophical white lie still in the crystal of only i have reflection when no answers no comprehending resolves solutions i have itself in an cautiously hinted at apprehending or rather a resolution in a grasping

92 OGpSpSpA OGpSpSpF

and your soul and your soul my love lies my love i mostly in darkness seek in the shadows for me – before under the livelong my eyes have or on got used to the bed at night the night it has green with mint become morning in because the dark is all your soul’s love’s preserve thuja hedge which with the two other so that light absolutes exist strangely enough prevents and grow best in me from seeing it the soil of the invisible

OGpSpSP

and your soul my love i wait for in the evening when the seven-pointed star shines through its linen from the base of the ointment jar i am sick with love do not ask me as in the Song as to how as to its gnawing unrest

OGpSpSpS OGpSpSpG

and your soul and your soul my love comes my beloved i to meet me in find at noon the fourth hour when the corn sings when everything is with brass and transparent with salt everything is so clear when dream and that nothing reality can actually be seen resolve each other but darkens as in a song by in the bonfire of rye schubert where only the so i too have to paraffin lamp of the close my eyes in order incomprehensible is lit to see you distinctly

93 OGpSpGpA OGpSpGpF

and your soul and your soul my love i my love i cannot as yet do not even know name by name therefore i tried far less to begin with to write into some compare it poem i only meet to all sorts of trees it outside to a crassula the words in to a sidra the baronial hall of roses for example or i see a pale i have not been of reflection of it in any use i cannot translate another man’s eyes its movements

OGpSpGP

and your soul my love i believe it out of the body out of august i believe it out of the unbelievable so that only the poem as a photo stands between it and reality so that only the poem stands in the way only the poem blocks the light with its blitz

OGpSpGpS OGpSpGpG

and your soul and your soul my love i my love i only sense out of the only see in the poem corner of my eye because precisely this like a shooting star changes it from the perseids just as that leave their language changes trace across every reality the anagram of the both in itself and august sky of burnt in reality velvet when the perhaps your soul eyed hawk-moth in reality is also swarms to its death das ding an sich?

94 OGpGpApA OGpGpApF

i have pressed my soul the perception to what else then is the utmost boundary of forgiveness the flesh have almost than a gift lifted the soul off instead of the body’s hooks so guilt such as to gain insight that the gift is i have worn down precisely the pardoning the heart’s sixty-four of guilt precious stones as in is not your guilt a watch but such that you the explanation came no longer have to as forgiveness pay for the forgiveness

OGpGpAP

my soul forgiveness you receive from the unexpected comes like all good gifts from above forgiveness falls from the sky unexpectedly and coolingly like the first snow’s wheat flour on a burn

OGpGpApS OGpGpApG

my soul i have stretched what else then is the bow of perception forgiveness to its breaking point than the more in order to explain the extra myself and added from above when i gave up and into the bargain the gift came on top of being alive precisely from above you are to of its own accord accept it the transfiguration struck without remorse and guilt precisely as because it is an arrow apparently precisely not your guilt blindly

95 OGpGpFpA OGpGpFpF

my soul my soul i am in a the expression ‘to be way ready ready’ contains at least (i.e. know it) two possibilities in it i no longer it points partly have to fall backwards (ready to shoot, backwards in the mind’s ready-witted) you know it ever deeper partly forwards shipwreck (ready to burst i have found to travel) myself or you are prepared rather my self ready for has found me somthing else

OGpGpFP

my soul i have used (loved) you up i know your two-thousand desires’ kiss therefore i have now turned towards other cherry trees’ satoris towards the general i am in that sense soul-ready

OGpGpFpS OGpGpFpG

my soul my soul i know you now it is the crossover (with all your i am talking about again infirmities from individual pains and rose-paths) to human being i know your and that is really special case the strange thing i have resigned myself that you only to the fact gain (as that you cannot a forgiveness) be changed more yourself when i am in that sense you lose (give up soul-ready offer up) yourself

96 OGpGpSpA OGpGpSpF

my soul my soul if you place yourself if you place your in the numerator self in the denominator and all other human and all other beings in the denominator human beings in you will have the the numerator you will have precise fraction for the precise your part of fraction for your the truth part of the lie you who believed you who believed you possessed or owned you possessed or at least owned only half the truth half the lies

OGpGpSP

my soul among these words you are to seek the truth is present here the lock is this poem in this book you will find the key elsewhere in heptameron’s riot of red hawthorn

OGpGpSpS OGpGpSpG

my soul my soul as you yourself can if you were alone work out in the world lies your odds are and truth would bad in that battle cancel out each other between truth keep each other in check and lies if with one you are to have any person more chance whatsoever the lie has already you must lean become four times your head as great as the against an truth so i other rock am not exaggerating

97 OGpGpGpA OGpGpGpF

my soul my soul i have not let now that it was you inundate almost too me with your late the wave broke last salt like a kiss deep down there close to was a small the coast of emeralds nut you never and landed a new word got the better of that no one will a small fruit ever which in just a few speak even though poems’ time will end up stranded everyone can hear it in the book of the spirit among the stones

OGpGpGP

my soul i leave you now in peace like a mussel so you can live in yourself rather than in me so you can breed your own pearl there in love’s atrium compose your own Song

OGpGpGpS OGpGpGpG

my soul my soul in the ending was so you will perhaps the soul appear precisely more and the soul was with clearly when god and the soul you are not fixed by was god the direct look all things were made when you can sit by it and without it in your own half-light was not anything made without my thought that was made of you when you and the soul became spirit can rise up and took its dwelling among us on allegorical wings and we saw its glory without my being able to follow you

98 The Book of the Spirit

99 100 OF A A A F OFpApApApA p p p p

if you think the house of the spirit that the spirit is is not swept and something elevated garnished there is that lives in the realm no red marien ‘of the spirits’ i must glas lamp in its disappoint you innermost chamber it is not when it comes to it finer than to it could be draw breath your own red-brick house to drink one’s your own house with the tea with lemon and cracked eternit roof great care if you get me as simple as that that’s the way it is

OFpApApAP

on the seventeeth of february i open the book of the spirit without any great fuss as you can read here i will tell you a secret: the spirit does not live in ivory towers is not more metaphysical than the hand that is writing this poem

OF A A A S p p p p OFpApApApG

nor do there to cut a long live seven other story short spirits (that have i will tell you wandered through the precisely what the spirit is waterless places) it is the miracles in this dwelling of creation the the spirit is at one and greatest and the the same time so simple smallest or rather and so miraculous it is realising as the snowdrops this insight that are already to live this standing like small path through life from paper lanterns in the garden one day to the next

101 OF A A F F OFpApApFpA p p p p

ergo i take and i also see the nine steps up the morning more beautiful to the sky terrace than ever here because i want to see in mid-february: the first miracle a hawthorn that which is evening: is blossoming too early orange green and in behind frost’s blue with a single temple still and silver star at the top transfigured as left bright a suicide’s soul and gleaming like a i see that the hard-edge flag second miracle painted by frank stella is as true as snow

OFpApApFP

the fourth miracle is a hedge sparrow that is not yet singing but eating sunflower seeds the fourth miracle is a hedge sparrow that does not fall without god’s will that does not fall to the ground this dark winter’s day

OFpApApFpS OFpApApFpG

there the sun rises today i smell from its urn like a flowerpot red with phosphorus (which because i have like the spirit also eaten celery burns in water) this small fifth there the weathervane miracle among swings to the east all green plants and crows from its i confess baroque poem and the one that i love celery who fails to understand its gait this third miracle really its underpants only deserves the pot its taste sherds of facts of wood and laughter

102 OF A A S A p p p p OFpApApSpF

you are the sixth the seventh day is miracle my the day of the spirit more love you have been deadly than mercury created from the ribcage if you misuse it of my imagination pollute it (inflam because god mation of the spirit) or saw that i cultivate it lacked you in there (infection of the spirit) behind winter’s mirrors the seventh day is and the the day of miracles morning and more tremendous than the evening all the world’s birds in flight were the sixth day less than a breath

OFpApApSP

the seventh day is that day when you see the world as it is the seventh day is the day of joy full of aquamarine and eranthis it is the laurel wreath of fire the seventh day is like a string quartet by haydn

OF A A S G OFpApApSpS p p p p

the seventh the seventh day day is a quite you are to do ordinary day exactly as you normally that sunday for example do you are to when st peter observe the sky’s buries spring’s malachite that has been warm stone in a field smeared out across north of ulstrup the dawn above the seventh day saltbæk vig has become your week only you are to day now because rejoice in that all days are malachite that is equally holy now the only difference

103 OFpApApGpA OFpApApGpF

on the seventh the seventh day day god rested is a song of praise after the work having said that he had carried out i must add: why then should sometimes chaotic not you too yes more than that rest and sleep wild as a crusade like a log when the heart is full why then should of birds and fish not you too of herbs and dreaming sing along in fruit trees which this tremendous all every one of them seventh-day song? shall be celebrated

OFpApApGP

the seventh day is like that great poem that heptameron anders arrebo never managed to write because sleep because death caught up with him with its seven league boots because rest came to him the seventh day is larger than life larger than death

OFpApApGpS OFpApApGpG

the seventh day the seventh day is is a green song that conception that that penetrates into takes place precisely in you the most distant corner beloved like a child of the soul where otherwise whose eyes are bluer only the funeral bell than abel’s which on is heard the seventh day an x-ray resemble is a song so a cameo created in piercingly green god’s image and high in tone the seventh day is that often only the heart’s 24-hour drum the grasshoppers hear is the pulse and breath it or god of creation itself

104 OFpApSpApA OFpApSpApF

the first day of the second day of spring bathed in crystal spring whiter than violet – the four cherubs the washing hanging now stand with in the neighbour’s garden the gleaming sword if the four pillars of fire east of salt i have of the poem because placed at the gates of they are to keep the poem have not the curious out frightened you off because they are to then follow me trustfully deny the cowardly now in behind the readers admittance forbidden words that to the book of the spirit burgeon on this page

OFpApSpAP

the fourth day of spring is blue like a scar in the soul like that cleft between the ribs i once penetrated through like that wound i once a long time ago inflicted on myself to reach the unutterable to reach my love

OFpApSpApS OFpApSpApG

the third day of the fifth day of spring cold as a spring pure as vodka finger imprint on come on dear the heart – come with me reader there is and let us together nothing to be find life’s enormous afraid of any more rose-tree just intoxicate yourself that has roots and sing along not in the poem using these words which whose trunk stands are far from adequate in reality but those you can but which hear inside yourself your blossoms within you own seventh-day song

105 OF A S F F OFpApSpFpA p p p p

where in all the world shall i begin shall i begin in the north where maple in this creation’s and fire thorn reign myriad of birds or to the west fish and roses that in the direction of silver god created in six shall i first days – where in all and foremost the world shall i end sing of the bullfinch in this creation’s or rather myriad of writing desks orion which and ceramic vases that has crashed man created in the in the south behind subsequent six thousand years? the shadow of a clover

OFpApSpFP

i could also start somewhere completely different with my left big-toe nail which looks alarmingly like a burnt almond in ash wednesday’s cool light and then i could finish with my beard which will of course also grow after death

OF A S F S p p p p OFpApSpFpG

i could like now there is only Du Bartas east left begin with light where the sun is rising and darkness the sky’s precisely above this spread peacock tail line behind the snow shower’s and end with man ashes – the east’s brass god’s emblem so i can begin but this time it happens there by thinking to be a heptameron about what kind we are dealing with of a light that precisely in was created three its own way will burst days before sun moon every reguladetri and all the stars

106 OF A S S A p p p p OFpApSpSpF

to a screw dear little screw that i found small unicorn’s horn this morning you are missed now in the east room’s somewhere or other pandemonium something is separated to a little screw now in at least whose origins two parts something i do not know that you held perhaps it has lived together with in my typewriter your narwhal tusk or maybe some thread or it originally comes from other is missing your my own head? spiral right now

OFpApSpSP

dear little screw i myself walk around with one of your distant relations screwed into my elbow it is slightly finer because it is made of silver but otherwise it serves the selfsame purpose: to hold together in this case my anatomy

OFpApSpSpS OFpApSpSpG

dear little screw dear little screw on of your elder the saying is brothers a so-called to have a screw loose bolt ensures and that is a brilliant that my bed expression of your copes with the night’s necessity and voyages – it is therefore i would like to fixed in a express my gratitude here to svedberg’s screw box all the world’s screws because (yes it sounds nasty) they precisely screw this but this combi world together to form nation literally ensures a whole – the perfect my life’s fundament image of the way the spirit moves

107 OF A S G A p p p p OFpApSpGpF

why not welcome to snatch a couple of birds the poem’s garden in mid-flight why greenfinch with should i not bid your lieutenant’s colours each and every i wonder what bird welcome that you think of me? does me the honour that i am a weird of visiting the garden old geezer who my garden as i at long last has call it even though learnt that birds don’t this green guitar live solely off air belongs most to and the poem’s precisely the birds sunflower seeds?

OFpApSpGP

welcome tree sparrow with god’s fingerprint on your cheeks come into my poem and sing of the joys that threaten me of the happiness i am to be plagued with in perpetuity – you who in another song foreboded so many grave misfortunes

OFpApSpGpS OFpApSpGpG

welcome welcome finally chaffinch with yellowhammer with your breast bloody your pure alchemy from the sunrise ‘i say unto you i guarantee you the one who does injury there is no to the smallest yellow greater wonder hammer will lose than a chaffinch a greater portion and i will happily of his soul’ donate a crate of so did aulus flaccus export beer to not say but anyone who can he could just as well come up with one have done so

108 OF A G A F OFpApGpApA p p p p

on shrove tuesday at the boundary i enter between winter and this poem spring i now stand whatever fatigue runs through that may mean the poem like perhaps in order a muddy field lane to find you a lane full of who knows bitumen and straw at any rate that leads past an here i now stand empty bath tub one of one bitterly cold those lanes that always spring day in a tempt me when you field near bjørnstrup are not here beloved

OFpApGpAP

on 28 february somewhere else in the area i really ought to be happy as i wrote in another poem recently – a good thing i am happy about this empty pack of cigarettes in the winter grass i am happy about your absence i am happy about the year that has not come

OF A G A S p p p p OFpApGpApG

i penetrate further i do not dare take into the poem a look but follow i still do not know a different path on what that means my left into some but i see a other sentences ‘stack of firewood’ there it is as if my words on my left – what is no longer reach you concealed behind it? as if they are caught perhaps ‘the wood in these cutter and death’ by ‘brambles’ millet from disappear in their an almost own mythology forgotten reproduction do you understand me?

109 OF A G F F OFpApGpFpA p p p p

a wall then i shout: runs here ‘hello’ is there a ‘stone circle’ anyone there? if you like i think it is the boundary between i can hear a the poem and the world faint ‘hello’ can i go up behind me on the edge i turn round of it but no – no one between ‘ferns’ it was probably and ‘fieldstone’ just an echo is it possible am i caught without stumbling? in my own words?

OFpApGpFP

what sort of a ‘site-hut’ is it standing here in the middle of the poem between rusty ‘beer cans’ from paderborn is it really me who is now opening ‘the door’ and looking into ‘the darkness’?

OFpApGpFpS OFpApGpFpG

and looking into i quietly close the poem’s ‘darkness’ ‘the door’ again what does that mean you were not there what in all the world at any rate does it mean not in these words’ to look into a poem inscrutability – perhaps that has not even i will find you been completely written? some other poem but of course some other day when it there is only is drizzling? – at the usual: hovgårdsvej i turn ‘pine-wood tables’ and off from this poem and various ‘implements’ walk home to ulstrup

110 OF A G S A for asger p p p p OFpApGpSpF

this is my i consider homage to my lovingly my left left foot (in that foot it is a subsection i beautiful foot will call: book of size forty-two the third flesh) what neither too small would i have nor too big done without that there is something foot i would not have doric about it as been able to take two steps if it originally came i would not have been able from a temple it to visit a single actually resembles the bodega without that foot spearman’s left foot

OFpApGpSP

if wings of hallmarked silver had been attached to the heel it would not of course be a heel but a symbol which it is not either the achilles tendon is fastened to my heel tighter than any aerial wire

OF A G S S p p p p OFpApGpSpG

now the right foot and then suddenly comes into the one is standing there in picture it wants to the shower’s delphic vapours be in there too with one’s left foot it is clad in a in one’s hand (disjecta black leather boot membra) and is as pleased from before sixty-eight as punch for that foot which it has worn into shape wherever it has come from down to the smallest details presently it will lead down to the smallest bunions me out to my love that boot would and one fine day be meaningless without also carry me its right foot on my final step

111 OFpApGpGpA OFpApGpGpF

i walk eastwards farther eastwards in language this so as to map monday also in more place names on the reality – there lies peninsula – kongstrup arly jensen’s machine it says on a blue pool – i say sign – a wonderful sound this make a note of to that word – ‘kongstrup’ this place if you i say so as to get should be in the the external and the neighbourhood – this internal universe is a highly unpoetic to hang together place as can be necessary and straightway the connection in all this poetry is there – perfect

OFpApGpGP

to the east the recycling plant also lies (for you it is probably a place in vesterled) but i come along other paths where words determine things it too is good to be placed in poetry for who recycles more than gentlemen poets?

OFpApGpGpS OFpApGpGpG

even farther or am i disappearing eastwards (east in a certain sense of the east that in the farthest east now is west) for you among i cross the words that lie along border the paths of the poem between røsnæs and incomprehensible as raklev parish flint? – will i does that mean that reach down to an ice-covered i am also crossing sea at the hour-glass cliff’s from one language to red clay that is another where green meaningless pennants flap? even to me?

112 OF F A F F OFpFpApFpA p p p p

the pinewood ceiling pinewood why not sing of yes the pinewood ceiling’s the pinewood ceiling which astronomy where is as beautiful as a i can clearly violin above the distinguish a paraffin lamp of my great bear of knots imagination just and there a forgotten before i fall drawing pin with a asleep and milton’s green head paradise lost that once perhaps falls out has borne a whole of my hand and galaxy of tin wakes me up again or glossy paper

OFpFpApFP

pinewood yes fyrretræ föhren holz of every shade for every purpose: shelves coffins floors as it was in my childhood as it is now and will be in a moment when i ram home a seven-inch nail in a plank just to demonstrate its reality

OFpFpApFpS OFpFpApFpG

pinewood yes the pinewood ceiling pinewood which why not i had otherwise sing of its dark banned from my pavilion the pinewood ceiling poems pinewood’s that is half my scent of toil and heaven my whole life generality pinewood or which is my which i now restore whole heaven to favour once again after half my life all these trials and the pinewood ceiling that tribulations the pine which spares me from i now plant here the real in the midst of my ex libris night sky up there

113 OF F A S F OFpFpApSpA p p p p

this time i enter it is quite the poem true i have from the southwest been here before so as to reach its in the same landscape’s northern shore i am winter morass completely aware of the fact the same ‘dry rose’ that i am sitting the same ‘sea buckthorn’s in here and the shore varnished berries’ that is lying out there many times and that it is still before i have a mystery who it is compared it wandering around to a in the poem’s vegetation woodcut by hiroshige

OFpFpApSP

that is not what i want to say that is not what i do not want to say it is something else that i do not know what it is but neither do not know what it is not something that lies hidden inside these words as in a rose hip

OF F A S S p p p p OFpFpApSpG

ten steps back again further on along the same track in i reach the the terrain of the poem word ‘stone’ a ‘buzzard’ gyrates i say it out in the unspoken loud: stone ‘the sun’ sets in it lies well on crystal violet the tongue tastes of far in there in iodine and seaweed language i see so i pick up on my way home the stone and throw after yet it out into the sea another out of the poem unsuccessful excursion

114 OFpFpFpApA OFpFpFpApF

you are on the point i wonder where you have of disappearing completely been in the meantime from the poem are from then until now you not my love st gregory’s day when the last time you spring should were in from the cold bring its first was that time in february’s infrared warmth? mighty turquoise you have walked around i can tell you in my life beloved quite precisely and in your own which that it is ex cannot of course be moulded actly ninety-five into the poem verses ago like a fly in amber

OFpFpFpAP

that your appearance in the poem has been reduced to a minor role is thus nothing particularly remarkable since it is the book of the spirit i am busy with here and the spirit is first and foremost the self and that you must take care of and deal with for yourself

OF F F A S p p p p OFpFpFpApG

you have gone now however you holding my hand are to enter beyond the poem’s the poem again patterns which because i cannot cannot contain existence do without you you have sat there either my love with me in the evening’s so i place you bloodstone there in the verse’s kitchen where life takes which is a bit more beautiful place – in the meantime than in reality you have loved and say: get on me to with that broccoli smithereens in reality gratin dammit

115 OF F F S F OFpFpFpSpA p p p p

hurrah look the snowdrop there eranthis shoots is burning off the snow up from its own in the miracle – what acetylene of its am i to say? white flames that it is orange-blue look the snowdrop in its own shadow’s is gleaming for you contrast of silver with its small on the snow that lamp of holy spirit i still miss how would it it even though it ever be spring is standing right it the snowdrop did not before my eyes? light its light?

OFpFpFpSP

i have not once asked for a sign god knows i have not done that because i wanted my faith to be pure as the altarpiece of winter and in spite of this god is now sending the one sign the one flower after the other up through the snow’s disbelief

OFpFpFpSpS OFpFpFpSpG

i have not in my mind’s yet seen the crocus eye i see the dorothea break through lily standing the ice’s ceramics violet crazier with hope than with love a jehovah’s witness therefore i am not writing soon it too will down a crocus break out of my mind in the poem either – i am to become a trustworthy poet reality soon it but i am clearing a will stand in the middle place for its of march with its cold earlobe yellow soul and put all here among the words imagination to shame

116 OFpFpFpGpA OFpFpFpGpF

i am out in the code words are: the listrup hills spruce pine birch one two one two the sky up there blue at a brisk pace like a painting by i walk along rævehøjvej constable with far in my dizzy rubber too much white in it boots – at a brisk pace what am i seeking one two one two here? – to go after approx. 1 kilometre’s astray to lose march i turn every meaning off at a path with the words turn off again that are into the poem inadequate anyway?

OFpFpFpGP

i tramp through a sloe hedge out onto the other side – of what? behind me i strew these small words: ‘i’ and later ‘love’ and finally ‘you’ like the white stones in the fairytale so i can find my way back or perhaps so that you can find me?

OF F F G G OFpFpFpGpS p p p p

i’m not of course walking yes come and find around in the poem me here inside the poem’s and i’m not walking around ‘enclosure’ in the wood i am sitting perhaps it is i here – somewhere or other who have never seen and that ‘i’ is walking around reality but in ‘the wood’ is completely have constantly uninteresting walked around in the poem’s what do i want here ‘darkness’? – come among words that come in to me saw against each other my love and show like the topmost me reality’s branches in the wind? hearts in the bark

117 OFpFpSpApA OFpFpSpApF

perhaps i have always in that case it would been moving inside not help to return an unwritten poem to røsnæsvej (the written poems were in that case it would just an excuse not help to turn out or a mapping out of the poem and go home of the far larger for home would poem) perhaps i have also lie somewhere never seen the world or other like a eye to eye but constantly diamond on the fringe deceived myself by of that poem which has alternating between just not yet been attached reality and ‘reality’? to its paper

OFpFpSpAP

come and find me in the poem my love where i am sitting in the pine trees’ gaudi cathedral come in and find me in this strange wood that neither lies out there in the wood near listrup nor inside among the ‘decayed tree stump’ of these letters

OFpFpSpApS OFpFpSpApG

no i do not want but do not come to be caught in that ‘too close to the trap again – there must brambles’ my love be a way out for brambles prick or perhaps a and tear your dress apart way in between follow another one the pine tree and ‘the the mind’s sunbeam pine tree’ a third into the unspoken word glowing with no do not come winter’s lightning too close to the that neither has its roots brambles my love for in language nor ‘brambles prick and in reality tear your dress apart’

118 OF F S F F OFpFpSpFpA p p p p

ode to snow ode to the snow drifts that even like that which in mid-march fly drifts like ashes like white bees from from the sky’s the hive of winter (or upturned urn buzz as arrebo ode to the snow’s believes) ode to each principle which solves single snowflake every sorites whose infinitely small problem for me accretion will while i sit soon attend to earth’s inside in my frozen integral covered living room and with zinc white count snowflakes

OFpFpSpFP

ode to the ides of march ode til den femtende marts that contains so much death so many mortal wounds so many per fections the ides of march that needs no explanation because it contains its own inner logic

OF F S F G OFpFpSpFpS p p p p

ode to an icicle ode to the north that is hanging outside wind that sudden the window ly surprises precisely in the me in my golden section poetic considerations ode to an icicle freezes the poem that long since the north wind has bored through that causes me to the cold heart of realise the necessity mathematics with of lilacs the north its long wind that tests more elegantly whetted my love in its saracen dagger utmost shivers

119 OF F S S A p p p p OFpFpSpSpF

now it is the turn let me begin of my legs the extremities with the ankles as they are also called they work more they have always done like a cardan joint me proud (specially the left one) than like a they have carried my chain drive it is torso round all of they that cause europe they have me to roll really taken me in a samba through all and i have my transformations if ankles to thank that i exclude death’s i cannot be characterised gate of tissue paper as a semi-invalid

OFpFpSpSP

how would i ever have proposed to you my love without at least one of my knees how would i have prayed my evening prayer how would i have planted roses how would i ever have supported myself without this knee-cap that resembles a baby’s skull?

OF F S S S p p p p OFpFpSpSpG

my calves i can confidently have their own say that i am masculine mystique proud of my thighs i see when my thighs are i compare them one of my strong with the male model points – yes i am in daell’s catalogue really satisfied with they’re good enough those thighs – i admire not tanned yet openly and without here in march but shame their juicy they’re not and meaty thin and hairy (almost argentine) either top-round fillets

120 OF F S G A p p p p OFpFpSpGpF

where are you now? alright i now place i can hear you as well you rummaging around here inside the poem’s somewhere or other scullery between a in the house i ‘bauknecht’ washing can hear you walking machine and a around out there in ‘haka’ tumbledryer reality’s where you are washing scullery wearing your ‘lee jeans’ those clogs that have while the oil burner quietly a small danish flag switches off and on so stuck onto do i bring you the arch and reality together

OFpFpSpGP

now you are standing behind my back even so beloved looking over my shoulder down into this poem that i don’t feel like writing yet again the poem never catches up with reality you are already somewhere completely different before this poem has been finished

OF F S G S p p p p OFpFpSpGpG

but there you the distance between enter the hall poem and reality where the map of is thus literally røsnæs hangs endless – that does i immediately note down: not surprise you ‘but there you perhaps my love enter the hall but i constantly where the map of speculate on what it røsnæs hangs’ is that then goes on so that you too in the poem – who it can be completely then is that meet present and here and there in in place in the poem the poem’s many rooms

121 OF F G F A p p p p OFpFpGpFpF

winter despite i know quite well spring still and that this statement cold the final snow calls for more than looks like psoriasis courage i there on the grass say absent-mindedly to and the smoke from a posthold spade that the neighbour does not smell hangs so real of birchwood there in its outhouse that ought to have on the rusty been stacked for a year hook in its the sky is more than eudemic happiness grey just as i am i know it quite more than happy well – mr spade

OFpFpGpFP

you must give up so many dreams to become happy you must exorcise so many fantasies you must make do with so much sour reality to be happy that you far prefer your sweet unhappiness – don’t you?

OFpFpGpFpS OFpFpGpFpG

i know it for i seize the the following reasons: spade with it sounds boring both hands to be happy and dig in vain not a soul would in the air believe it’s true are you happy mr it inconveniences other spade? – i also people when know quite well of someone is happy course that it is a and finally only stupid question a few people but what the hell – you actually want to be have to while your happiness happy at all away with something

122 OFpFpGpSpF OFpFpGpSpA

if you follow the road you will not find yourself down towards nyby harbour walking in someone an early spring day else’s footsteps (let us say the seventh no one normally uses of march) you will this path just after beskesvej during the winter when on your lefthand side the gulls peck find a little path each other’s eyes that winds its way out – you will between undressed spruce laths only meet the sun yarn and well-boxes that rolls down along the kattegat’s saw towards you like a blade of ice – follow that path fruit bitter with phosphate

OFpFpGpSP

give yourself plenty of time – notice last year’s common tansy that stands more beautiful than the bamboo grass in shubun’s indian ink paintings – think about your social security number for example let the last snow singe your soul pure so it adorned can receive the spring

OFpFpGpSpS OFpFpGpSpG

after about twenty if you take the poem minutes of walking down towards ‘nyby harbour’ you will come to an early spring day a little white house and follow the directions almost down at the that i have water’s edge a given you carefully you strange little will after about twenty house of gas concrete minutes of ‘walking’ that only has one reach a small strange door the handle of which ‘house’ of ‘gas concrete’ has broken off without ‘windows’ there are no windows in inside lies that poem this house down by the sea you would have written

123 OF F G G F OFpFpGpGpA p p p p

later in march i pause for a while i continue my in this ‘picture’s’ linguistic expeditions claire obscure one early evening straighten slightly a i go through a couple of branches also picture that resembles manage to place a ‘bank of rembrant’s ‘mill in clouds’ flanders’ – on the above the pine trees because other side it is now there happens to be cold and violet a bank of cloud there – now in the shadows’ cobalt it is not this picture farther in the i wish to depict that’s not lamp of the sea has been lit at all what it looks like at ulstrup mill

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i place a new mental incision in the picture and force a path out onto the other side of some other words force my way into a new picture a new poem within the poem is it truer am i really wandering around in such a final sunset of the golden age?

OF F G G S p p p p OFpFpGpGpG

i continue it is dark now through this picture after smoking heap of cinders picture has gutted into the night behind me – only that now suddenly ‘the north star’ covers the whole ‘picture’ still gleams from with prussian blue a distant poem how many poems out there above the fjord are hidden inside so let me the poem and how many call this last pictures inside every picture: ‘the north star single one of these above asnæs poem’s pictures? one night in march’

124 OF S A A F OFpSpApApA p p p p

today i bought how do you spell a maul in the word maul kalundborg DIY with a u or i don’t really with a w? know if i that is an important ought to use a question – i maul – maybe i mean if anyone simply liked spelt my name the sound of the word: wrong i would maul – i don’t know be annoyed as i said so a hammer but i’m still can presumably also thinking about it be allowed to as well

OFpSpApAS

if language was congruent with reality it wouldn’t really matter – in that case the mirror image would of course reveal the error immediately but since that is now how things are it does things to the maul’s identity to spell it wrong

OF S A A G OFpSpApApS p p p p

now that i know a word that does not that it actually refer to anything else is called a than itself maul is that a word? (with a letter i could also ask u more beautiful an object for than insects) which there is i start to no word is that speculate on an object? what in all what sort of the world such a strange maul can be borderland am a real maul? i moving around in here?

125 OF S A F F OFpSpApFpA p p p p

come with me look at the chimney there now through this placenta-coloured by semi-permeable the setting sun there the town lies more beuatiful than ilion’s completely real tower – to you think with the short the people of kalundborg samurai flags of appreciate it its supermarkets by the fact that its fluttering outside phallic erection in the wind of other is precisely the town’s words than those true landmark you know from its electron the glasshouse of poetry flash at night?

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or the great mountains of cinders over on the other side of the fjord i wonder who lies buried beneath them – malachi ha mawis – would one of the town’s moslems certainly answer one of those who so symbolically has been placed out at the seaside hospital

OF S A F G OFpSpApFpS p p p p

i could also now that i have start by mentioned skibbrogade pointing out superfos’ let us walk grain silo to you steep up the street together as the north wall of the eiger it is kalundborg’s yes there just naughty street opposite skibbrogade jack london would i am only showing you have been able to use this building because this street beauty has with its six many faces pubs as more than those of inspiration the approved sunset (to be continued)

126 OF S A S A p p p p OFpSpApSpF

so there is no let me set about getting round it thing scientifically i have in the literal to start off with: sense reached my penis is ten cm the ticklish point: long – i make my genitals it stiff so now it or to make no bones has grown to about it: my eighteen cm in length prick and my balls that is perfectly there they hang normal – two cm relaxed a bit longer than august to the left one strindberg’s organ early friday morning i proudly confirm

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i cautiously feel my testicles somewhat anxiously – no they are not hard like cherry stones admittedly the one is a bit larger than the other but otherwise they’re hanging fine there in their pearl- embroidered silk bag

OFpSpApSpS OFpSpApSpG

i let the sperm dear penis squirt (out over many are the pleasures my wife) you have given me and many oh it smells of the sorrows – you have raised fresh mushrooms your razored in a shower-soaked wood head at the most or of wet inappropriate moments and wheat flour perhaps let me down when called and what is it on – you must pull your that it resembles? self together a bit at this the well it’s final call come on then with clear enough an that child otherwise you’ll oyster in its bridal veil be capped with a cock sheath

127 OFpSpFpApA OFpSpFpApF

spring also the frequency of comes to the poem such statements as: ‘look i exchange for at the tulip there in example the word its showcase of glass’ winter for the word will certainly increase spring as you can while others such as see and the concept ‘the price of oil has snow becomes a bloody well gone rare commodity that up again’ will now at most will correspondingly decrease appear in combi so simple is nation with poems the coming of spring about the deep freezer to the world of the poem

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spring will also make itself felt in that the accompanying music in the poems changes from bach’s chorales to shostakovich’s late string quartets that are precisely as full of the burnt umbra of indirect pain as spring is itself

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and not only the yes even the semantics will change collection of poems’ colour and key systematics (that is more from winter’s high c complex than to dream’s b flat minor the blue patterns of but the actual syntax the koran) will show cracks are in danger like asphalt when when spring makes spring’s anemone its irresistible presence forces its way up felt because through language from life mercilessly breaks down the depths of darkness’ every calculus every most secret chambers model of itself

128 OF S F F F OFpSpFpFpA p p p p

on the first of april i reach a lake april fools’ day where the ice lies i choose to skirt thinner than sand the poem taking blown glass – i’ve just a path one side of which got to try it out is fringed by to see if the poem pine trees swathed can bear me – so in the gauze of mist and i do and notice whose other side the ice break beneath borders language’s me exactly as landscape of more the language does that or less i still use precise metaphors and know so well

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as if the words suddenly give way lose their meaning for me as if they are used up ‘ice-floe’ i say and know of course perfectly well what that means and yet i don’t as if there lies some deeper meaning in the word i simply have not grasped yet

OFpSpFpFpS OFpSpFpFpG

as if all words home once more lie like this lake i examine waiting for on a geodetic the south wind that map the name of is to break them up the lake – it has transform them typically enough fill them with no name new meanings but is indicated here where they by a light-blue dot are neither wholly in the middle of frozen nor an expanse of green melted yet about one centimetre to a greener life from ‘skanseskov’

129 OF S F S A p p p p OFpSpFpSpF

so as to make today too the ice myself more precise lies thin and i walk down the filmlike over the lake following day to another more than yesterday lake in the poem ‘black ice’ is what according to the map i think the technical its name is ‘sønder made term is mose’ a beautiful name i play ducks and drakes it seems to me with a twenty-five øre there are some hoof across the surface prints in the clay of the bank there it lies then probably from for a while heifers and bullocks at least

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how am i to explain it let me try with this image a poem can so to speak freeze over around its words and become ‘words’ or it can thaw out in other words that reflect reality so closely that they are almost wrong

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somewhere or no this attempt other between these is not good enough two states either i the poem is realise and throw a situated i think stone out over the ice neither reality nor that immediately breaks language yet ‘sønder mase mose’ not exclusively i say out loud itself either and later look ‘made’ up fragile as the in meyer’s encyclopedia thinnest new ice it means moistening perhaps that was what i and comes from was trying to say yesterday the latin: madere

130 OF S S A A p p p p OFpSpSpApF

there is take for example nothing more real particular care in than walls – the afternoon when red-brick walls intoxicated by the it should be noted daily bordeaux these walls you must go in for stand redder your cigarettes – enter than the evening’s by the door poppies and not by the wall more real otherwise you will than that poem discover to your where they here cost the truth of my statement have been raised about the walls’ reality

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the walls in ulstrup are flaming red (like the soul now and then) there are fingerprints in a few of the bricks which is strange since they are sure to be manufactured so walls too apparently have their own special mysteries

OFpSpSpApS OFpSpSpApG

inwardly the on the walls hang walls have of course the pictures and become the mirrors’ hidden doors walls covered that lead into with sawdust so many illusions wall paper or tiles without walls and outer walls decorated with there would be no room the four types of grain no inside and outside inwardly the no reality walls have become think of that when the walls that mark off you smash your the innermost with wineglass against their dangerous whiteness their hard truth

131 OF S G A F OFpSpGpApA p p p p

of course i so i am standing cannot resist the not only inside in temptation – on the twenty language and not only second of april i am once more outside in reality in the poem – on the i am standing there one side lies where the euleric language’s ‘nordre made’ circles cover on the other side each other with lies reality’s a new colour nordre made i am standing i am standing there where somewhere or other the circles in the poem’s intersect each other nordre made mose

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what am i to call this place where words are insufficient because they only refer to the world or to themselves and it is not the imagination i am referring to – that is only a distortion of language and reality

OF S G A S p p p p OFpSpGpApG

i do not yet provisionally and for know – i look into the time being i can language’s forest of call it nordre ‘reeds’ and ‘club made mose even though rush’ with millions of that does not ‘seeds’ i look out over say all that much the sea of reality particularly because any with millions of idiot out here on waves where røsnæs knows that the sun will set this place again and again is actually called no – i do nordre not know yet made mose

132 OFpSpGpFpA OFpSpGpFpF look the month of may walpurgisnacht is ajar look at the clouds there in the poem whiter than blood let us enter via es träumen this night together die wolken die beloved where sterne der mond the lights burn why so german behind the word herr poet when ‘romance’ may is so danish? let us together because because get lost in because as another beethoven’s danish poet has once greenest sonatas put it before me

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look there forsythia bang – burst into blossom in allegorical gold – let us for this single night forget everything about the meaning of words and play romance again my love yes let us intoxicate ourselves in an even greater meaning inside the loss of memory

OFpSpGpFpG OFpSpGpFpS

let us play look the may-night’s my love door is open let us play that in the poem – let i am thirty us enter together that you consequently between the words are fifteen again ‘may’ and ‘night’ that i have just enter this wood where led you into a wood the anemones gleam that resembles raupp’s in another ‘sonntag im walde’ poem which in let us at least turn leads into a play that poem by aakjær we are playing beloved down by the fjord

133 OFpSpGpSpA OFpSpGpSpF

a flourish from this for the yew tree centre of that stands at the universe it the corner on its has governed the urias’ post there dark shades of where the east fence meets its green colour until the south fence – its in winter they almost world consists of turned black – from a round this bastion the yew cement basin the tree has refashioned diameter of which time into a slow is not much more and secret than a metre fire in my heart

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this brave tree has to use an expression borrowed from military language participated in innumerable skirmishes it has repulsed the white dragoons of frost and withstood the sun’s artillery when the high-summer offensive was launched

OFpSpGpSpS OFpSpGpSpG

it has survived a flourish veritable onslaughts for the yew tree from dogs cats this may morning and boys who through when i go out negligence have and award it the broken its green légion d’honneur rapiers – even first class the invasions of ants ‘dear veteran’ have been repulsed i say much moved it is a strong ‘may you battle on avant-garde i for many a year to come with have out there on honour for the fatherland my left flank here at fort ulstrup’

134 OFpSpGpGpA OFpSpGpGpF

how would i for good reason ever be able to i have of course never sit and write this seen these two poem had it hemispheres that not been for my fill my jeans buttocks my so precisely but they two raw-silk pillows have never let me down that no chinese neither when empress has i was at rested more softly on stool or when as my wife i sat down has claimed in in the danish a weak moment? academy’s finest sofa

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it is without a doubt the spirit that reigns but it is the flesh that redeems remember that when you sit on the fleshiest part of your body and believe you can think yourself into the seventh heaven

OF S G G G OFpSpGpGpS p p p p

on another occasion anus – yes it i attempted to sounds better save my than arsehole buttocks that were doesn’t it only swathed more scholastic in blue pyjamas how shall i put from corporal punishment it? – i think i place myself at i will make do with the end of the line but the old motto: the teacher cunningly what does it profit you started from the back that you own worldly goods ow dammit how and gold if you that cane smarted cannot shit?

135 OF S A F F OFpSpApFpA p p p p

do i have a pelvis where does the does a man have groin sit? – what is a pelvis? a groin all it sound so things considered feminine i don’t exactly i mean: pelvic bones know – do you? pelvic floor musculature it’s certainly something and all that stuff down there near the women on tele genitals – some vision that do diagonal or other pelvic floor exercises i pay you homage has that anything nevertheless my to do with me groin – in my igonorance

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then there are the hips i am apparently inside an area where the gap between words and reality is deep at any rate in my own knowledge i am thinking of my wife’s white suspender belt yes that’s where the hips are of course

OF S A F G OFpSpApFpS p p p p

not to mentioned the book of the third flesh the loins gradually reminds me children are the fruit of a bit of artistotle’s the loins it says zoology as far i go in search on as prolixity is concerned an old anatomical but okay – the body chart – no the figures does after all have its there don’t have any loins strange mysteries i grope nervously its one masculine for my own loins mystique – is the waist - on my back? higher for example up my back? – further the same down? where on my back? as the middle?

136 OFpGpApSpA OFpGpApSpF

no i cannot no sooner keep up any have i got more – no the pepper tree written down matter how many in my poem than times i rush the redcurrant bursts backwards and forwards into flame – no sooner between reality has this fact been out there and the poem confirmed here in here – i before the tulip sends cannot manage to its emanations register all these of indecency up spring miracles that into the air outside well out of the greenness in the seventh day

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now the french anemone strikes even lovelier than its name and there the apple blossom stands almost invisible against the whitest sky like watermarks in the poem here – and i’m apparently just about to get the birch’s catkins as well

OFpGpApSpS OFpGpApSpG

but it is no i really already too late can’t make it in while i have time – reality written this poem is exploding with life the pear tree has raised around me its home mission reality of colours for which is overtaking the poem i have no words with its gleaming and while i invasion of light am writing this down reality unknown flowers is overrunning the open their poem here on the great soul’s dossier liberation day of 5 may

137 OF G A G A p p p p OFpGpApGpF

i walk on the edge there was something of the poem on else i didn’t the edge of silence manage to say it seems to me but now i i want just to say cannot call to mind a couple more words what it was before i fall completely so i search silent – ‘ulstrup’ further into the poem i shout into so i perhaps can the poem because i remember it there am now actually perhaps the unsaid on the outskirts is to be found there of ulstrup by deeper within the silence?

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on the track of the inexpressible is that what i am? like moving into the kreutzer sonata so as there to hear the unhearable like moving into the poem so as deep within the silence to want to state this silence?

OF G A G S p p p p OFpGpApGpG

is that what i there is nothing in want – to write the world as silent the very unwritable as a poem into the poem it does not say to write the very poem’s a word – it just precondition lies here on the table into the poem? and keeps its trap shut i can well hear the poem is its own that these words are contradiction perhaps only an echo it wants to state of what i as yet what it cannot: have not managed to say its and never will own silence

138 OFpGpFpApA OFpGpFpApF

mental exercise then you will number one discover that what go out and observe you thought a tulip was called cream-coloured a parissima is called eggshell-white is fine by me nowadays carefully study in modern design the episcopal seat now touch these in the middle that has large immoral been sprayed with god’s petals and think yellow semen at the same time of your compare it with woman’s labia dyrup’s colour chart just do as i say

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then say to it: delightful tulip how lovely you are that is what it’s standing waiting for after the bees have visited it long ago – go into more detail continue like this: you are more beautiful than villa lobos’ guitar music that is what it wants to hear

OF G F A G OFpGpFpApS p p p p

bend down over it dear reader like a happy if after these lover and whisper: directions you you are a true have not understood miracle that the age of miracles not even solomon in is not past all his glory that miracles are was arrayed alive and kicking right like one of you outside your window whisper that to it that miracles and you will see grow in valleys it blush there i am unable to in the sunset help you any more

139 OFpGpFpGpA OFpGpFpGpF there the flycatcher flew there the flycatcher into my poem settled on a the pied flycatcher branch in my poem dressed in for a short silver full evening dress moment – there it knew me but it settled (in i didn’t know it my poem of all poems) it probably often and looked so earnestly saw me walking at me before it round my own rapidly flew on axis inside the soul to the place where but i didn’t see it all fly unwittingly before now catchers must go

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that’s how you are to write i can hear you say it is a poem and not an explanation of the word ‘flycatcher’ yes that is a good old-fashioned poem even though it also refers a little to its own inner labyrinth i reply

OF G F G G OFpGpFpGpS p p p p

but as you there the flycatcher already know i sat in my am not a poem behind the real poet words’ cherry blossom i mainly use there the flycatcher the poem did me the honour as a way to of singing to me search for god or for almost a minute god uses it there the flycatcher sat as a way to imprisoned in my poem search for me or before i let the poem only wants to it out again to its find itself who knows? own reality

140 OF G S A F OFpGpSpApA p p p p

in a fit of and you could enter melancholy i could in jeans and a start listening to flamingo-coloured joy division sweater you could i could ask you have your to dress in new puma shoes on white: white and ask me suspenders white stockings is that how the white dress that i am to be dressed reveals the hairs under today? – and i your armpits i could could answer you: ask you to stand on which of these two your white military heel poems fits best?

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or i could say to you: take the sweater off first only then can i see your breasts then take your shoes and trousers off and lie down on the sofa there then i will myself pull your panties off that are still hiding the privet scrub of your sex

OF G S A G OFpGpSpApS p p p p

and you could do and now you as i asked – do as i perhaps in the opposite asked you order actually undress you could take before my very your shoes and trousers eyes and lie down off first and then you on the sofa and could pull the sweater i really pull off over your head as your panties women do with and consider the almond crossed arms and of your sex – tell me: i could ask: does which of these two poems the poem fit better now? is the truer then?

141 OFpGpSpFpF OFpGpSpFpA the poem’s blackthorn i walk down blossom is whiter to the sea at than reality’s sønderstrand because i see and yet i know that the black do not see thorn bushes are blossoming and yet see now that they are in it inside behind the process of separating the picture’s light silver from matter and know that i shall or is it the poem write that and i walk down to know that when it because i know that has been written it was the blackthorn bushes only not that which i saw really blossom in there?

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and now i have written it down and it was not that which i saw – and i know that i shall write it down and i know that i cannot and i know so much i shall not write and so much i do not know that i absolutely shall write

OFpGpSpFpG OFpGpSpFpS

perhaps the poem what was it i first begins in saw in there in the poem’s ignorance blackthorn thicket that in that which i do not does not lie down by know i can write the sea and does not lie yes once i have in language – what was got reason it i saw in there out of the way in the poem of the blackthorn the blackthorn thickets that is not blossoms perhaps that which i wrote down first in there here but neither that in their which i whitest madness? did not write?

142 OFpGpSpGpA OFpGpSpGpF

the twentieth of may then i turn i pass by right down along a dolmen on a field path that krogebækvej and say: apparently leads this is reality right into but after reality: the white having said that summer clouds in it is no longer the blue sky that i realise the thatched farm earlier i used but no i can to ask where eternity clearly see i have lay now i ask tumbled into a where reality lies painting by constable

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to the left there along the blackthorn hedge in my soul lies reality there can i put up a road sign here on which it says: ‘reality’ that points this way no i have not yet emerged from bruckner’s fifth symphony its trumpets outblast the gale

OFpGpSpGpS OFpGpSpGpG

what if i were there is no way to simply follow back – i must my nose down among go back in the the fir trees of last direction i reality there came from – does down to the sea reality lie there but i can already where i’ve already been? hear it in the back no i only get of my head: ‘the into my own poem: the salt is on the briar rose twentieth of may i the fog is in the fir trees’ pass by a dolmen i have landed up in on krogebækvej and say: a poem by eliot ‘this is reality’

143 OF G G A A p p p p OFpGpGpApF

mental exercise refrain from number two shouting amen go out and have a or halleluja shave (if you are do not dress a woman omit in yellow do not this) eat your stand on your head kefir in peace for half an hour and quiet and light do not read paul’s the day’s first cigarette first epistle to then cut away timothy (wait with the withered tulips that until it’s evening) and inhale deeply their do not torment your deadly scent self with vegetarian food

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sit down instead at the well-decked lunch table with both roast pork caviar and you own last-supper dressing drink without a bad conscience both two beers three snapses and your own sacra ment cocktail in short accept god’s gifts

OF G G A G OFpGpGpApS p p p p

do not attempt just try to save the world dammit for a single do not write moment to be any reader’s letters happy to be do not sign up for alive (for at least the cat protection society as long as this exercise do not believe that the colour lasts) say loud black has and clear to your anything to do wife: i love you with death (believe it (stop sitting there if you can’t help mumbling at yourself) stop at) try showing showing off all day long a little gratitude

144 OF G G F A p p p p OFpGpGpFpF

these flowers there are are yellow plenty of flowers i do not know i do not know their name the name of that seems just as yet even so I can strange as a like them word that has from a distance no meaning just like the name but in a way ‘sutters gold’ is both phenomena reassuring even though cause me some degree i have never of happiness in spite of seen any flower with their missing half the name ‘sutters gold’

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no language can contain its own explanation and no reality can contain its own explanation – therefore language and reality need each other but these two together constitute a new system that cannot contain its own explanation

OFpGpGpFpS OFpGpGpFpG

i really do not these yellow flowers know – can the poem have of course be a kind of a name – it explanation? is listed in some but then poem flora or other language and reality but that does not will once more be a solve that problem new system that i have outlined cannot explain above although itself – ah me another one – my the problem of the provisional advice is yellow flowers is bigger therefore: go outside and than one might think enjoy those yellow flowers

145 OF G G S F OFpGpGpSpA p p p p

i go further not because reality into the poem does not exist at listrup bakker it lies just i have no outside the poem illusions i raises itself in candelabras reject without mercy from the pine trees – no such words as ‘reality’ not because of that but and ‘actuality’ as being because it can unusable throw never be made them out of the poem like present here in the poem gnawed chicken bones where at most it wishbones i no longer can appear as feel like pulling a pale reflection

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no i do not reject reality as such even though it has its problems about becoming real and not ending in remembered poems and paintings – no i do not reject reality – it does for example hurt when i give this stone a kick

OFpGpGpSpS OFpGpGpSpG

even this poem i have said it finds itself in before and i will reality but say it again: reality does not it is not the word find itself in it ‘reality’ and not and even though from reality i am time to time i talk about interested in finding the poem’s own reality in the poem now that there is another the sun’s rays reality and are boring through the why use the brambles like same word about two gleaming foils such different phenomena? at listrup bakker

146 OF G G G F OFpGpGpGpA p p p p

the cherry tree is the cherry tree has blossoming again – it has lit its crown as such no its masculine light other possibilities sparkles in blossom or die over language the grim law of the cherry tree’s three necessity – but million satoris what necessity burn the poem my god how beautiful to ashes it is – just think its soul shakes if my poems about like a snowstorm it were subject to the cherry tree bears the same simple rigour the dome of summer

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the cherry tree’s code of honour would i really wish myself that no matter how beautiful it is? would i really wish myself that necessity which is never completely the same even so? would i really wish to eradicate myself as a poet?

OF G G G S p p p p OFpGpGpGpG

the cherry tree there is so much raises its fountain that is still to be of saki sung of – that which is its salts and that which is not rustle like paper and that which is the cherry tree lifts in between – said the seventh day the poet sitting up in reality under the cherry tree its blossom who has just sparkles with sung of its kamikaze bushido order and laws the cherry tree bears that are lovelier than fusiyama on its crown any poetic licence

147 OApApApApA OApApApApF

nineteen zero five i walk from west hours precisely to east along the first of june sydstranden beach down i walk with a low towards the hourglass cliff sun on each moment my back out of contains its the concept of truth own truth that which i know only cannot be transmitted belongs to language and not at all by and that i therefore language i know that am on my way to a as soon as such different conception a moment is written down of truth it has become a lie

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this is of course due to the fact that time cannot be contained in the poem and that every moment can therefore not be verified no matter how many time coordinates and locations i introduce into my poem – all of it could be a lie

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i therefore realise if i am melan that truth is either choly at this linked to insight – if i the eternal am aware that or otherwise it must also the poems here mercilessly perish are struck by this with its own lightning flash? – i moment if keep that to i will not myself and make do make do with with stating: language’s truth i will never which of course is return again only half the truth to the concept of truth

148 OA A A F A p p p p OApApApFpF the third book of the flesh how can one continues as follows: ignore one’s own my torso head? – that is seems reasonably a real greek to me paradox – but i even though praxiteles manage to do so would probably and imagine object that my torso in it is a little lopsided plaster sprayed with and could not international be used as a model klein bleu raised for one of his in the half-light marble sculptures behind a rubber tree

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then i take out a photo of myself – it is a fairly old photograph where i am posing in my pants with a black speedmarker i swiftly erase my head arm and legs hatch them out viola: my torso

OApApApFpS OApApApFpG

i could also instead of that i drape myself finally study in front of the mirror my navel with pieces of yellow have i made myself silk so only clear: i contemplate the body the torso my own navel would be visible have i made myself as in a willumsen clear to freudians statue seen in a and jungians postmodern and who knows who: interpretation i i pick small could do so bits of fluff but i do not out of my navel

149 OApApApSpA OApApApSpF

june’s widescreen are you deaf? i am prepared to can’t you hear maintain that the colours are the first summer brighter than techni thunder rumbling colour this morning in the distance on the purer than outskirts of june far eric dolphy on inside the poem the flute – i dare like unsolved make the claim that philosophical the genista smells enigmas? – no stronger than menstru you can’t ation this morning that is why and now i do so i am writing it down

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or perhaps you are blind? can’t you see lightning’s avens over asnæs there on the other side of the poem yes you’re sure to be able to because i have just written it down in june’s plaster right in front of your eyes

OApApApSpS OApApApSpG

what did you see yourself then i could walk what did you hear on in your yourself while you june poem and you in mine were walking along and i would possibly the beach towards discover that june the june sun’s icon? is not so different that actually as all that interests me because we and you would perhaps could then transcend realise that i am each other’s poems right in claiming that (written or unwritten) speedwell gleams like there where they your woman’s eyes from adjoin each other june’s bedroom

150 OA A F F A p p p p OApApFpFpF

we could also go on yes when we stood long walks in the summer there in the poem and rain right out looked out over to ‘lookout’ where hills and cliffs we then would try we said to each other: to look out into how beautiful that reality nature is – without which we either really understanding did not understand or what ‘nature’ also confused meant with our own even though we illusions about were actually standing a reality in the middle of it

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in the poem there is no nature not the slightest (the poem is the spirit’s preserve) we knew that well so it was not that which surprised us more that we were unable to immediately grasp nature any more but only via mediations (other poems and paintings etc)

OA A F F G OApApFpFpS p p p p

don’t misunderstand we had to go further me: we enjoyed nature into the poem we (more than most had a feeling people) but we of further in did not understand it so as to be better hardly even got able to look out the meaning of we had to (yes it the word ‘nature’ we sounds strange) find just looked out at the same nodding it here at ‘lookout’ cowbells that and said once more to we had already each other: how found here beautiful nature is at røsnæs lighthouse

151 OA A F S F OApApFpSpA p p p p

it is that the seventh day state i call does not have to the seventh day be a bright which is not summer’s day – it just a random can be a sunday or one perfectly ordinary of the days in june rainy day in week when the tulip has twenty-five when gone and the rose the wild chervil is not yet blossoming flowers like a the seventh day sudden epilepsy is not deeper inside any particular day the poem’s woodland

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you do not find the seventh day behind the trivialities and petitesses of the other days it does not lie hidden in the soul as a special day that differs from the others like a diamond resting on its six pillars

OA A F S S p p p p OApApFpSpG

the seventh day the seventh day is not some is the day of miracles fairytale in the usual that day when sense you you realise that do not have to solve your everyday is a any riddles on your way far greater miracle turn right or than the so-called turn left or supernatural events turn south of the heart that never it doesn’t matter which take place because the seventh anyway which the day is everyday does every single your everyday day of your life

152 OA A F G F OApApFpGpA p p p p

we were well in short we aware that knew that the poem most poems stands and falls with in the present tense its moment in are more untrustworthy that reguladetri than those in the that is time’ imperfect (which is and that what also why this poem is is left at kept in the past tense) because best is the moment as stated timeless and that cannot be held the rest crumbles fast in the poem as without mercy to anything else than snapshots pure nothing

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why could we now not make make do with those facts? perhaps because somewhere or other deep down inside we still believed more in the living spirit than in the dead however paradoxical that might sound

OA A F G G OApApFpGpS p p p p

so when we therefore we looked saw the sun sink behind the usual down into the sea’s definitions of marienglass and the word ‘timelessness’ the winter rye was coloured therefore we pushed mauve that belief further into the poem’s would not leave us ‘nordskov’ that this moment in behind the even so could dead symbols in order rise again in the poem to find ourselves a that this moment new present tense despite everything would to find ourselves live on in the poem another present

153 OApApSpSpA OApApSpSpF

three hurrahs good health for the silverware to the candelabras one for each that have kept so of its towers much darkness at a let me propose distance whose flames a toast for knives have burned quicker and forks there on and more mercilessly their royal velvet than schack staffeldt’s even though they are never used spirit to get and the long hurrah us to realise the for the christening spoon’s self-evident fact teethmarks of that truth engraved ill-temper is precisely light itself

OApApSpSP

three cheers for the silver jug i one day will inherit from my mother and that now is collecting death and darkness in a distant oak sideboard but then will be filled with light and coffee to music by orlando gibbons

OA A S S S p p p p OApApSpSpG

perhaps you think nine cheers i have forgotten for the silver at the silver rings the bottom of the soul’s because they aren’t made mines that gleams of gold – but greenly in the eyes’ i haven’t done reflection – a toast so for now to the full moon’s i celebrate my silver in which engagement ring with dolphins leap a: hah – bravo higher than even though i can the silver see quite well that it is prize medals of a bit tarnished the universities

154 OA A S G F OApApSpGpA p p p p

at snogegårdsvej i whistle to i exit from it and it replies literature and jug jug jug enter the poem i say even though i am and it replies walking in nature – it or am i the one is really complicated replying to it? all this where a strange dialectic am i actually walking of green notes around? – inside or of letters my head? – yes but and words or of the nightingale’s singing out there poetic detritus what about it then? from eliot?

OApApSpGP

neither what i wrote or what i didn’t write neither what i know or what i don’t know neither what i can know or what i can’t know what is it then i am to do – what path am i to take?

OApApSpGpS OApApSpGpG

shall i write am i getting what i cannot lost in the poem’s write and not increasing darkness write what i here where snogegårds can write? vej suddenly ends what is the at a sign third possibility that says: i cannot work out private – here where this midsummer snogegårdsvej ends evening when at a log cabin the nightingale with chequered sings for the kitchen curtains last time this year? at its windows?

155 OA A G A A p p p p OApApGpApF

i read about firstly you in another i did not know man’s book you at that point my love in time secondly read that you all of it wake up in another may be lies man’s bed or a fleeting pale with the night’s semen fantasy in a but the poem’s precise poet’s brain image of mother of pearl thirdly evokes you are not yourself no jealousy at all in the in me beloved unreality of the poem

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nor do you pass through this poem as far as i know you are at this moment busy weeding around the ultraviolet velvet of the pansy that is at any rate what i can see through the window right now

OA A G A G OApApGpApS p p p p

a pansy so it is is neither neither jealousy true nor false nor the truth just like you value of the are not mentioned statement my beloved that bothers me there in your simply light-blue denim jeans the fact that just like the poem you are also moving is not around in another as long as it does poet’s beautiful not express itself about poem anything else than itself about you my love

156 OA A G F A p p p p OApApGpFpF

a couple of days later and partly because we walk hand in hand words like that along kongestensvej had been used up without knowing anything had been consigned to else about this road oblivion where than that it led they rightly belonged to the sea – we in some naturally did not talk historical context about such concepts as or other ‘naturalism’ and silently we entered ‘idealism’ partly because june’s church but it would be stupid to not dumb talk on such a walk for that reason

OApApGpFP

we did not want to depict reality neither external nor internal but we did not want either to let the poem close round itself – be self-sufficient – grow wild in its own weeds – we did not want to put it more briefly to create a new reality either

OApApGpFpS OApApGpFpG

as we now passed along we realised that this road unknown to us the poem was a with the rye fields relation that linked of reality on the one reality and language side and the ‘turnip fields’ together to form of language on the other a world and that it side lit by did not as such create the bright sun we a new reality realised that the poem merely lit up was neither reality the old one – having got nor language that far in our but an other sun reflections we had also that lit up the world got as far as the sea

157 OA A G S A p p p p OApApGpSpF

later that day i knew that it i walked alone was too much down sydvej where that the poem was the rugosa roses were not a sun that flowering more wildly lit up the world than allan petterson’s but that it at best eighth symphony was a little a road where crows lamp whose light and jackdaws normally lit up a micro congregate early scopic piece of the world in the morning to as in this decide on the instance where it day’s evil deeds perhaps lit up sydvej

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if the poem is such a lamp i asked myself as i approached nostrup klint who then has lit its light? i cannot of course be me as i as a part of the world am first lit up by the light of the poem

OA A G S G OApApGpSpS p p p p

for the time being i it would split did not answer this across the middle question but (as here) into poem smelt instead and meta-poem which the whitethorn’s silver in turn would call for it was clear to me an infinite series that i had walked of meta-poems into some trap or other it would in a of course a certain way split poem could not the world into two contain its own expla halves by the nation – it would illumination that precisely inevitably fall to pieces made it a poem

158 OApApGpGpA OApApGpGpF

thus did i stand nothing more than in the middle of the poem that: a little leap at barnes banke but what a leap and watched the green glint larger even so than of the sunset the leap over blip its second this cliff at of neon the foot of which the blackthorn it was easy lay with its roots i only had to adopt in the air like a new paradox extracted tooth crowns only believe that the poem a little hop could contain nothing more than that its own explanation it was difficult

OApApGpGP

i only had to leave the solid foundation of reason i only had to abandon myself to what? – to the collapsed ochre of the irrational? no not to that no i would not abandon myself to that dark vertigo

OA A G G G OApApGpGpS p p p p

i was just like i really knew in fairytales deep down inside where one has that it was to say the magic not so much me who word to solve was to undertake this the riddle and so little leap as advance through it was that which the buckthorn scrub was to undertake me and i was unable so therefore i calmly to say that word let my thoughts gyre because it around a great was precisely the forgetting like the gulls inexpressible here around barnes banke

159 OApFpApApA OApFpApApF

lundgård lay like lundgård was a an older poem derelict farm abandoned inside the poem by man and beast remote somewhere invaded by it took a long time to wild chervil and reach like the green banners of the secrets in ground elder bleached allan petterson’s like bones sixth symphony it lay at the back we only found it of beyond under because we systematically the great roamed through rugosa leaves the poems’ possibilities of the northern sky

OApFpApAP

to the west only a stable wall was still standing like a boundary and a shield against the barley fields of realism like a gothic wall with portals and half windows through which the sunset burned like the penetrating gaze of a madman

OApFpApApS OApFpApApG

to characterise of course we looked the place more closely in at the windows we would have to of the farmstead employ almost forgotten because we words such as: suspected that perhaps ‘thatch’ – ‘half- even stranger poems timbering’ or ‘cobblestones’ might be concealed words that at one and the in there but same time weighed too much the rooms were all and yet were empty and dark strangely except for one in which hollow like there stood the stems of hogweed an atlas fridge

160 OA F A F A p p p p OApFpApFpF

for a while we went out once more we forgot lundgård to lundgård on a other poems from the south summer day along intruded and july’s bright paths (which wanted to be written down as you probably know poems heavy as the rain often lead far out clouds above asnæs past the poem) new but from time to time questions immediately arose we asked each other questions why had the chimney been even so such as: what repaired? why was it we forgot there in was their refuse in the dust the ground elder or what bin? whey were there no was it we were to remember? poppies growing here?

OApFpApFP

we discussed for a long time if we ought to buy the house and restore it wouldn’t it then become a pastiche a bourgeois idyll? wouldn’t the costs be too great? were the foundations solid enough? and what about when the north wind caught hold of the roof ridge?

OApFpApFpS OApFpApFpG

did not nature ‘you could plant roses reign supreme in there’ i revised this kingdom the poem even though where the yarrow it is not nearly as ran riot? were others good as the original on the track of (yes ‘Yes – new dawn or we did not hesitate van fleet’ you to use the phrase) added – some of those of this ‘godforsaken large pale yellow ones’ i retreat’ – were continued the poem ‘and others in the process ivy hanging of transforming romanticism like a shawl into new poems? down over the soul’

161 OA F A S A p p p p OApFpApSpF

we were clearly what did we mean interested in by a new romanticism? this place despite not at any rate its scruffy the blind alleys that appearance because we schack staffeldt believed that a had followed in order new romanticism to find a could perhaps second abstract thrive here face reality in which to face with he went astray in the northern sky’s the concept: everything (which as scorching known cannot contain the board of truth thinker himself)

OApFpApSP

nor was it hölderlin’s romanticism which found the absolute in a second hellas that was not of this world we were in short not idealists in the usual sense of the word – concrete reality’s thorns of nettles were our point of departure

OApFpApSpS OApFpApSpG

but we believed let me use that reality an image to could first be seen illustrate that as the world the difference between in the light of the reality and the world absolute which precisely was not one of content cannot be seen itself but of state: (like a second and imagine that you strange reality) had had a dream but by virtue that corresponded exactly of which reality to your waking state itself can be seen then the difference would as this world only be the state

162 OA F A G F OApFpApGpA p p p p

in this light we were not reality thus did not to look for any appear otherwise reality behind than it was reality not to find on the contrary it any world behind showed itself the world – there was nothing as the world more to forget nothing the only world more to remember this was the miracle we were only to realise this was reality’s that reality miracle was as it always this was the miracle’s had been that the world reality itself was the miracle

OApFpApGP

to retain the image: we woke from a dream that was hard to distinguish from the reality we woke up to and to leave the image: we woke from a reality that was hard to distinguish from the world we woke up to

OApFpApGpS OApFpApGpG

so what was the our assertion was difference? – none in other words that none except we naturally one reflection were in the universe more that could but also that we only be stopped in would never come the northern light of eternity to understand this was the this insight state and it this paradox was this state that was why we now wanted we were contemplating to call the settling new romanticism at lundgård

163 OApFpFpApA OApFpFpApF today i walk through i change into the poem with a kondo sweat adidas gipsy shoes shirt that matches on as you can see july’s colours today i look green in turquoise in across july’s with a small thresholds through white silk embroidering reflecting sun-glasses above the heart that reflect light i exchange a back out of the poem word for another as you can see one: june for by reading these july because yet lines in the document another month has passed

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i look up in the gardening book under july take it easy does it say enjoy the garden – yes it really does (it is one of these terribly modern gardening books) ok but i settle in the shadow of the poem and enjoy the garden

OA F F A G OApFpFpApS p p p p

iris and tagetes in my own calendar and the first i have noted roses that flower under july: wildly on the month of ants july’s cross – i as one of the can hardly experiences transferred see all these from last year miracles for you and true enough my love both the bread because you both bin and the soul bodily and and the poem here quite literally are full of ants as cover them now you can see yourself

164 OApFpFpFpA OApFpFpFpF

you have planted one is white unknown flowers a second blue everywhere in the garden a third red like cross-stitch embroidery like the highest around my poem north and one perhaps they symbolise is indescribable everything i am like a palace in not to know isfahan – perhaps about you? – i do they stand for our not know that either unborn and unnamed because i have not yet children that are still answered the fairytale’s playing with each other in last question the soul’s garden?

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or perhaps they simply represent everything i can not know: the immediate reason for the miracle in the seventh day yes perhaps they really only represent themselves as that revelation they first and foremost are?

OApFpFpFpS OApFpFpFpG

my love my love you walk around there will always planting unknown be more questions flowers everywhere than answers – at any in my poem rate at least one to remind me that i cannot of my own even ask ignorance there will always so that i be at least one will not make unknown flower that mistake that is not an answer to again to anything or is only its give names to everything own innermost question

165 OApFpFpSpF OApFpFpSpA

this summer i i don’t think walk around with much about my hunched shoulders upper arms when about one and a half metres i use them above the ground except now when i have done so i pump my biceps since i was seventeen up to full strength what else what is it am i to do they look like with them? an old-fashioned that’s where rubber they belong – that’s where hot-water bottle they work best it seems to me

OApFpFpSP

the lower arm as a paradigm of what? of the function of leading a dortmunder beer to the mouth and emptying it how in all the world would one otherwise be able to carry out this piece of necessary labour?

OApFpFpSpS OApFpFpSpG

who’s interested in hearing the wrists’ about my scar – oh brass i write who wouldn’t like to hear and it sounds about my lovely beautiful even though scar? – like a they are more of frozen half moon stainless steel it lies round even though a single my right elbow piece of glass could slice it comes from through them one fine jacob wrestling with day in a moment’s the angel – a fight pure distraction i waged ages ago oh my oh my sexy scar wrists’ roses

166 OA F F G A p p p p OApFpFpGpF

the first rose we were well able to see came out in the symbolic nature secret so to of this but speak while we we hated were away symbolism where it came out red one phenomenon is from its velvet simply replaced by it came out red another one from its black what’s the point of buds that that? we wanted looked as if they to get further in had been behind the beauty dipped in bismuth of these phenomena

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the first rose that we ourselves had planted was closer to our souls than jealousy was closer to our hearts than the third quarter of heraldry the first rose came out from the mandala of our love

OA F F G S p p p p OApFpFpGpG

this too could be the first rose misunderstood raised its diocese this too in summer’s could be filled arcana with the searing phosphate hid its miracles of meaning from us but we chose so that we might to let the rose believe them stand there precisely more than see as it stood them for ourselves without any the first rose other reality was rooted in behind the leaves the seventh day

167 OApFpSpApA OApFpSpApF

can’t you see for all right – let’s say yourself then then that the rape’s that the in flower – you rape is in flower? say to me i have never to get it denied that over with – you answer me i can see that for uncomprehendingly myself – i no but reply undaunted you haven’t confirmed i’m neither a it either – narcissist nor i continue even more colour-blind am i insistently my love

OApFpSpAP

so there the exchange of words stops between us while the rape of course goes on flowering yellower than chrome-yellow more silent than an etching in mutus liber so there this day’s small loving snide remarks come to an end

OApFpSpApS OApFpSpApG

for there is not you and i together all that much more to beneath the corten be said – the rape steel of the sky is really flowering you and i and fantastically the rape in flower yellower than esteve’s together in the rectangles and you immutability of and i are standing here the poem – that is together seeing another way of it happen deep inside saying the same the poem or thing: can’t you see maybe even for yourself then that the deeper inside? rape is in flower?

168 OApFpSpFpA OApFpSpFpF

somewhere or it was late other the poem was life increased in waiting perhaps in strength smelled some other poem sweeter than wormwood (like here) or in new words surrounded the blue clay at us like the flora kongstrup strand here lining the path we went down there ‘medicinal bugloss’ and to see it we were ‘viper’s bugloss’ right or it was beautiful just to and relevant to fill the soul’s place them in their bottle with salt right context

OApFpSpFP

we did not want to emigrate from reality into words’ undergrowth of ‘sea buckthorn’ and ‘blackthorn bush’ – we wanted rather to try and determine the coordinates for a connection between the sea buckthorn there and the ‘sea buckthorn’ here in the poem

OApFpSpFpS OApFpSpFpG the third coordinate was the poem then could not be the moment in existence the diamond when since it it is lit up in cannot be contained a gleam of light when in any system the coordinates despite this we precisely intersect? believe in this inner was the poem then contradiction – or this moment ought we rather this clarity to say we hoped that had no that this impossibility explanation but itself was the resolution explained the world?

169 OA F S G F OApFpSpGpA p p p p

deep inside the words were not july on the simply self sufficient other side of the as ‘words’ poem where nor were they simply summer’s pointers to trumpets played something outside so bluely that they themselves as words could scarcely be they were part of a heard we walked larger context a tight-rope between in a conspiracy the barley and the rye like the poppies we in a sense went that burned to death beyond words’ boundaries in the cornfields

OApFpSpGP

the words became centres around which the world concentrated itself in larger or smaller circles as when you thrown a stone into the water and the circles after a while are the only thing that reaches the bank while the stone itself has disappeared

OA F S G S p p p p OApFpSpGpG

like a cornfield in that way where the corn does one could say not exist without that reality the field and the field in itself and language does not exist without in itself were sensed in the corn the poem the distance like a did not exist without heat haze at the world and the world the beginning did not exist without the poem of the dog days they made up an in that way unbreakable whole one could behind which there quite well say that we was no meaning were idealists

170 OApFpGpApA OApFpGpApF

you could just some people would as justifiably probably rather use the call us realists expression: natura since we did not lists about us because with praise some just as much new world or passion we were any other world engrossed in the colours but precisely this of the camomile and the world exactly sceptre of the chicory as it was that right now in this honeysuckle this month stretched on charlesvej ex up towards the blue actly as it smelled firmament of the sky

OApFpGpAP

others would refer to us as metaphysicians when we now and then claimed that the sycamore had its own language yet others would call us existen tialists or spiri tualists or as belonging to even stranger lodges in the history of isms

OA F G A S p p p p OApFpGpApG

if we were to we realised that say something ourselves the concept ‘explanation’ the label: anti- could develop humanists really fitted into an illness us best because we if we continued did not make man to cling to it the measure of everything we realised that but were just as willing it had served to place the mauve crown its purpose as of the thistle or a a ladder with six blackbird or rungs that we eventually god now laid aside on at this centre the seventh day

171 OA F G F F OApFpGpFpA p p p p

we stood here in the elder flowered the poem on like a slow stendyssevej and madness in there looked into another in the stillness poem farther off like something or other over on the other standing between side of kildedalen the lines in grimms’ it was late fairytales – farther and we could feel in it seemed to the dryness of the dog days us that we could make out blow down our necks a third poem like warm talcum faintly gleaming from god’s breath in the mirror of darkness

OApFpGpFP

or were we in reality standing here on stendyssevej looking into the poems that lay within each other like chinese boxes in there in the forest where the elder beckoned us in with its magic flowers and its sharp scent?

OApFpGpFpS OApFpGpFpG

what now was to get from reality and the poem here or what was poem from reality’s we asked ourselves? stendyssevej to couldn’t we simply the poem there or cross kildedalen to kildedalen’s to get an answer second poem we to that question? simply had to cross couldn’t we simply inexpressibility walk the ten simply write metres ahead the unwritable the ten metres it was out of the soul? no more than that

172 OApFpGpSpA OApFpGpSpF

the tawny owl crossed this demonstration of course did not however this distance effort solve our problem lessly – right which was that before our eyes we could quite well see flew there and back the transcendence again between take place but stendyssevej and that we could not kildedalen on trans understand it cendental wings it flew our problem: in and out of the poem the old disease as if it was the gangrene in the very centre easiest thing in the world of summer’s heart

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nevertheless we walked these ten fateful metres from sten dyssevej to kildedalen in order to try to comprehend the incomprehensible in there in silence’s drumbeats in there behind the stinging nettles’ terrible iron guard

OA F G S S p p p p OApFpGpSpG

we now stood we stood here in in that poem in which we had the poem at stood on stendyssevej and kildedalen and looked looked into into another it was now our poem further off reality over on the other but now we looked side of stendyssevej precisely into where the flowery meadow another poem out there spread out on stendyssevej like theobald höeck’s where we had just collection of poems ‘blumen stood feld’ from the a moment ago seventeeth century

173 OA F G G A p p p p OApFpGpGpF

once again in the we well knew bright light of evening that if we now we believed ourselves went over to that able to make out spot we would only a third poem stand in reality further inside some place else and the flowery meadow’s second look back into poem and a the poem fourth right inside we had just left on the dancing place here in the elder wood of the chicory as it looked as if we called that spot the poem was always bluer than the soul where we were not

OApFpGpGP

it looked as if we would never reach the middle of the poem – that it moved when we moved that our faith was as yet not great enough for this cross of silence for this greatest movement

OApFpGpGpS OApFpGpGpG we realised that we resigned we would ceaselessly ourselves to this for run our head the time being and into this went the ten metres brick wall of silence back to sten that every new dyssevej and out onto attempt would only the flowery meadow where we lead to yet another picked this summer failed poem – but bouquet: lady’s it did not matter to us bedstraw chicory scabious all that much we had and yarrow – oh their long since given up fragrance was that of your writing real poems sex my love

174 OApSpApApA OApSpApApF

when we get back look i say home you arrange we do not need the flowers to seek poetry’s blue in a clay vase flower in the that gathers incunabula of german all causes high romanticism – there in it a brown it stands in vase with black the vase there glaze as its blue with truth only effect a blue with at least vase with an seven patent invisible cross miracles blue in its base with god’s breath

OApSpApAP

it could have been the blue evidence of the viper’s bugloss or the lady’s hat of the scabious or the lady’s bedstraw that is so yellow that it turns blue in the after-image but now it is the chicory on which i have cast my love’s blue irrevocability

OApSpApApS OApSpApApG

to be on the safe therefore we too side i check can calmly sign in novalis the lines: yes – heinrich really ‘er sah nichts als slept the whole time die blaue blume and the blue flower und betrachtete sie was really a dream lange mit while i and you unnennbarer zärt my love have after all lichkeit’ – because woken up from the blue flower of reality in order the real is standing right to see this chicory in front of us in its while wide awake reality’s vase

175 OA S A F A p p p p OApSpApFpF

i go out into i sit down in the scullery with a deckchair my washing: in front of the small shirts pants porthole and observe cheesy socks and the process how polyamide shorts detergent and water i stuff them in are mixed with the clothes the washing machine in a melee of which is a bauknecht colours – then follows then i select the spindrying programme A kaleidoscopic unpredictable and start it as when like a composition i start a poem by stockhausen

OApSpApFP

unlike my own typewriter i have no idea how this whitebox is designed input is obvious enough and output too but what takes place in the meantime remains a mystery almost as with what is called life

OA S A F G OApSpApFpS p p p p

if it is not there the clean the exact opposite sweet-smelling clothes i press the lie – it is obvious dead-man control enough but one and the red lamp would not think goes out as a that this auto sign that the process matic process could lead has stopped to poetry would one? i do this just look though purely in order here lie five to demonstrate brand-new sweet- my sovereign smelling poems on power over the machine the table in front of you

176 OA S A S F OApSpApSpA p p p p

i go down to the swallows fly the poem via under the radar fjordbakken so as round my start all over again feet (they are somewhere sand martins) and i know the sparrow hawk hangs yes there lies the sea at its point as usual of temporality under its cloudy sky midges in both ‘öd und leer eyes and mouth das meer’ the slope’s hand that too of chitin – everything i still know by heart is the same as ever

OApSpApSP

i try out the words once again too i say: ‘our lady’s bedstraw’ and immediately i see the yellow lady’s bedstraw it works i even say: ‘pain’ although it is not present at the moment – as expected: all quiet on the southern front

OA S A S S p p p p OApSpApSpG

i pass the poem and an elderly gentleman reality fit too who stops and well together today points with his stick like a jigsaw puzzle like a coup de grâce: where all the pieces not much you could have been put into place call weather today but where the lines what’s become of the summer? even so cannot i cannot really be removed give an answer to his cannot be erased questions but say: from the illusion the summer – yes no there was everything’s as usual no way back

177 OApSpApGpA OApSpApGpF

the next day what is that i choose the flag that is opposite direction fluttering there? to the northwest P W it says where black and red on it with large and the unknown rule capital letters – what i cannot sort of a syllogism read what the road is that which i first is called because the sign have to solve has rusted and been in order to ruined by weather understand this message stonethrows and on the white latitudes other forms of vandalism of the northern sky?

OApSpApGP

who lives in there in the poem’s illuminated house (why has a crystal chandelier been switched on at midday?) behind dark trees that cast shadows the wrong way as in a picture by a deranged painter i do not know?

OApSpApGpS OApSpApGpG

what’s the name the poem and of that stone reality do not fit lying there with too well together today a red ribbon like a jigsaw puzzle diagonally across its heart where a piece ‘granite’ – ‘basalt’ is missing or or a word where there is perhaps i do not remember one too many what sort of that can only a word am i be placed in to say three my own soul times for the no there was no equation to be solved? way forward either

178 OA S F A F OApSpFpApA p p p p

so we abandoned nature continued as the thought that usual – it was things would probably easy enough to see fall into place one flora of by themselves in the course sea pink after of time if we the other disappear waited long enough without trace beneath the as in nature scorching sun we abandoned any but we did not want to idea that the progressive seek consolation in this per se would eternal recurrence mean any other we did not want to spin along solution than death on this wheel of straw

OApSpFpAP

we claimed the opposite point of view: that every single moment was its own solution and resolution that every single moment could be just as important as any other if we heeded the fact that time could thus not resolve or save us

OApSpFpApS OApSpFpApG

that exactly it was this the opposite day we called it was each moment the seventh day that resolved time when the world if we heeded the fact appeared naked and that the way forward radiant as and the way back it was and always were only apparently had been there in the light of this day when this second the transparent veil which welded of illusion when the world together the seventh veil into one single now had fallen

179 OApSpFpSpA OApSpFpSpF

when i wake up or a yet this morning i more distant thunderstorm can clearly hear coming from it has become a low pressure area august – the wind in my own has changed consciousness? – what to another key then with the as if it is blowing first yellow leaves from a centre on the staghorn sumac deep inside allan and the halo of flies petterson’s sixth round the sun symphony – or is it are they too just the heart’s kettledrums? mere imagination?

OApSpFpSP

i wake you up to verify august’s colours in your eyes but august is not blue my love and i cannot see anything else than your love or is it my love that is reflected in there larger than death?

OA S F S S p p p p OApSpFpSpG

later that day look the moon we go out onto rises above the sky terrace the towns of natural history where the poppies full of parsnips wave from an look the moon almost forgotten poem lifts itself above by palle jessen the rim of my eyes ‘papaver’ ‘papaver’ now it is standing they call in the middle of the pupil at least do not the august moon forget us – notice ssssssssshhhhhhh how well the corn is listening to itself we become august silence – please

180 OA S F G A p p p p OApSpFpGpF

‘dream is over when we stood in what can i say vindekilde’s almost dream is over biblical landscape yesterday’ of grass and tinfoil yes we no longer we were unable to sang the praises of dreams imagine any madness and those sorts of dream that was youthful excesses greater or any we were on the track fantasy that of each other and surpassed the of love we broad-daylight poem of were on the track of this real world the great reality full of sun and flowers

OApSpFpGP

one miracle succeeded the other: sky sea and hills that lost themselves in ever wilder slopes not even tot sint jan’s landscape paintings could compare with this panorama of accuracy and precision

OA S F G G OApSpFpGpS p p p p

we had had enough that the obvious of the eclipses was the actual secret of the spirit – we that we only had had now accustomed to remove the ourselves so much transparent nothing to the light that we of all opinions and could enter its all interpretations arena of ochre in order to see here near vindekilde what we had without being dazzled always been able to see there we saw that the that the self-evident secret was that is concealed there was no secret in the self-evident

181 OA S S A F OApSpSpApA p p p p

that was clarity’s it was not the mystery invisible nucleus like a lit inside the candle in distinct but the the sharpest midday distinct nucleus sun – like the inside the invisible white square inside which put the white in another key rectangle painted by would mean that malevitch or the invisible like vindekilde nucleus and the inside visible nucleus were the word ‘vindekilde’ one and the same

OApSpSpAP

it was broadly speaking simply a matter of unpacking the present from its silver paper of unpacking reality from its transparent cellophane wrapping it was simply a matter of seeing what we had always hidden by our look

OApSpSpApG OApSpSpApS

click – a finger-snap a single look and it was there of the eye the world as in a single eye-look instant the fairytale and it was there and all was there the world which that we we so deftly had overlooked had sought to the grass flowers conceal behind odd love images and in strange in favour of mirrors behind such strange imitations transparent veils and of ivory curtains that we and cut glass called reality

182 OApSpSpFpA OApSpSpFpF

we were no face to face longer afraid of with the stones reality and the light face we looked en face with the world straight skies more beautiful in the eye without that in rembrandt’s gaining support from paintings we did diverse ideologies not need any more ‘we didn’t believe excuses in mantra on the contrary we we didn’t believe took the blame on in tarot’ ourselves for the persons we believed in roses we had become

OApSpSpFP

when we walked down across the dial of the meadow at vindekilde and the large hand pointed to a yarrow and the time was thus two minutes to rain we did not ascribe this time of day any other symbolic significance than it itself showed

OA S S F G OApSpSpFpS p p p p

we did not we walked out return to some into the ellipse of openness so-called former here at vindekilde reality but we walked on the other hand into the seventh day we did not want or we took any longer a couple of tentative to be locked up steps forward and inside ourselves in backward in the poem our own dreams or on the spot and fantasies ‘dream was over’ we walked out into from now on we put our the intervening world trust in the poem

183 OApSpSpSpA OApSpSpSpF

mental exercise now you place the number three cup on a table the following things and hold the ball are needed: in your right hand a cup coffee cup above the cup for as long or tea cup as you are (a tooth mug is physically able also ok) (make a supreme a ball preferably effort) of wood about three finally the ball centrimetres in diameter falls into the cup (like a you have carried out table tennis ball) a necessary act

OApSpSpSP

you let a certain time pass then you pick up the ball once more (because you are going to use the cup for something else) and place it on the table perhaps next to schack staffeldt’s selected poems you have carried out a probable act

OA S S S S p p p p OApSpSpSpG

after another finally you sit pause you take down at the table the ball with your and imagine left hand and that precisely when try by throwing you have counted from a certain distance to a hundred you will (about a metre) pick the ball up to place the ball from the cup again in the cup again do precisely as at some point or other you have imagined you will manage this this you you have carried out have carried out a random act a free act

184 OA S S G A p p p p OApSpSpGpF

i have noticed for the time being that the i pretend there’s nothing white pascali rose even though the is crackling white rose is with small my symbol electronic flashes even though the white through the window panes rose is in sending me one of the quarters secret glances of the soul’s behind my back coat of arms ‘have you seen it is not to believe me’ it seems it is really something until to be signalling it is so – is it?

OApSpSpGP

i give myself plenty of time i praise for example a hollyhock close by because it is two metres high even though it has not flowered yet and i also whisper away with a cornflower confidentially but not one word to the rose

OA S S G G OApSpSpGpS p p p p

nor have i finally though given it i can’t hold particularly favourable it all back conditions the words spurt last year i from my mouth planted it under like a heavy a dark pine tree ejaculation down where the sun only into this poem: my god shows itself at evening how beautiful you are like a japanese wax seal how incomprehensibly beautiful it has to show you are my rose – you are what it’s more beautiful than made of – doesn’t it? reality itself

185 OApSpGpApA OApSpGpApF

mental exercise look up page two number four chapter one dig out your bible verse twenty seven and place it what does it say there? in front of you on it says: the table preferably and god created the bible authorised man in his by royal resolution own image of sixteenth december stop – think a bit nineteen hundred and about that – and then thirty one – place read it once more your left hand and god created man on its worn cover in his own image

OApSpGpAP

now go out and stand in front of the mirror – what do you see there? you see your own mirror-image is that how you look like god? yes exactly that but god is invisible so if you look like god it must be in something invisible

OA S G A S p p p p OApSpGpApG

what is there then close the bible in you that is again blow to be invisible? – it is on the safe side the spirit by which the dust off the you live – by which top edges of the pages you breathe – by which (that hopefully you are reunited are not gilt) with the universe when and place it that time comes back on the shelf by which where you took it from you were created return to in the everyday god’s image the exegesis is over

186 OApSpGpFpA OApSpGpFpF

i haven’t forgotten there the drops sit the windows diamond next to the panes full of diamond so much light which will run i have simply waited first the one on the right for the right or the one on the left? moment – and that is now my bet is on st lawrence’s day the one to the right and when the rain breaks now it sparkles their transparency down the pane’s reveals the universe like magic rectangle of their a shooting star invisibility on the floor from the perseids

OApSpGpFP

there the drops sit star next to star in the evening’s diadem and disclose the mirage as the letters here on the page disclose the other illusion: that the poem should be pure fantasy or the soul’s expressed image

OA S G F S p p p p OApSpGpFpG

i go over to and if i let the large panorama the wasp loose windows where a (which i do) that wasp is caught does not solve between the panes’ the enigma of the word double invisibility the word that is caught how could it possibly between the poem’s two be able to understand this realities prison? – precisely the word that is as with the word caught between that is caught the poem’s pane and between the poem’s the poem’s ‘pane’ – try two nothingnesses releasing it yourself

187 OApSpGpSpA OApSpGpSpF

deep down every all in all cat is an the cat is such a owl – apart from the wise animal that it obvious fact of that doesn’t bother to statement i can try and learn from man actually prove it: why on earth in the darkest corners should it? – how of the house i find wise is it to traces of pellets and since learn to smoke before there are no owls here breakfast it must come from or drink a the cat ergo bottle of red wine a the cat is an owl day – tell me that

OApSpGpSP

yes i have in fact learned more from the røsnæs cats than they from me but what it precisely is i do not know – i can better express what it is not it is for example not to tear the wallpaper to shreds or to pee under the sofa

OA S G S G OApSpGpSpS p p p p

have we arrived at deep down every something essential here does cat is an the cat differ from tiger but in the dog in the following that case it must be way: you know what you a very little tiger give the dog and what since it otherwise you get in return couldn’t be inside devotion etc – but the cat – and that what you give the cat apart doesn’t seem quite from food and what you right – no the cat’s get in return apart secret is from trouble must this: deep down remain uncertain every cat is a cat

188 OApGpApApA OApGpApApF

on sandåsvej it could be it seems to me a prose poem i am walking round i think while among the fragments considering the lucerne of another poem ‘that dulls the blade that i have not written of every sword’ myself – perhaps i dimly recall because wormwood is from somewhere or breaking up through other – sure to be the asphalt or because from a text that a strange man is has nothing picking hips in a at all to do distant thicket of rugosa with this poem

OApGpApAP

it can’t at any rate have been a sonnet the path is much too down-to-earth for that if you get what i mean and the lilac is far too rusty already brings more memories of a shut-down factory somewhere or other on amager

OApGpApApG OApGpApApS i mull over in my mind i am now standing whether it is me at the end of sand filling in åsvej on something the holes in this that resembles second poem with a parking area odourless camomile who in all the world or conversely whether would have waited here? it is fragments of who in all the world the second poem could conceivably that are filling in have written poetry about the holes in mine these kerbstones and with the blue fingerprint this well cover of the poppies covered with grass

189 OA G A F A p p p p OApGpApFpF

who – i who would have ask myself continued along who would have a path that written so bluely hardly exists about a sky between the rye’s that isn’t blue wet lightning and but looks more like scraps of a constable’s pictures poem he cannot who would have remember – who proclaimed the would have left his tansy king footprint like a of this seal in a dream empire of yarrows? that was to be broken?

OApGpApFP

who would have let himself be stopped by an old rusty petrol engine half hidden by bindweed to the right of the path who would have cleared the poem of nettles and elves to turn it into a real fairytale?

OA G A F S p p p p OApGpApFpG

who would have who would finally made out a beekeeper have noticed with gloves that seven clouds and net as a hang like widow’s veil in devil-fish dark amongst the legends with rain far of the pine trees out on the horizon even though he out where the poem possibly does not and reality exist meet or elsewhere than gather into one in the crushed fragments single whole where of the poem? ever that may be?

190 OApGpApSpA OApGpApSpF

no one no one except except myself myself – no one i realise else would and answer dare to go beyond out loud these first harvested myself: no one fields and prick himself except yourself on the stubble on the track of the of what was poem you wanted to write left the or are in the process grudging of writing – the realisation of poem you once sowed the grain already in early spring taken to the barn

OApGpApSP

no one except me could harvest the words i myself have sown (even though others have admittedly harvested the barley in this field) but this is another image that is certain to be interpreted by others when that time comes and september is already past

OApGpApSpS OApGpApSpG

no one else would what thus came to be capable of be written is following me now clear but in precisely this what i otherwise tractor track behind might leave behind out this combine harvester there in the mighty diocese among the words of the barley fields i wanted to write and where it will soon those i have written stink of liquid manure in this poem which will never be only consists of the clear to fragments of what anyone – not should have been written even to myself

191 OApGpApGpF OApGpApGpA

there will thus there will thus be large holes be huge in the poem that areas of silence no one can in the poem that admittedly no one can see partly hear partly for because i have good reason and partly covered them over because i have with words that should drowned them not have stood with the noise of there – words such as ‘love’ and possibly ‘rye’ or ‘the infernal din ‘the despotism of barley’ of bluebells’

OApGpApGP

there will thus be black holes in the holes and silences behind the silences that i simply cannot give you any inkling of partly because i do not have any and partly because these words only play on a possible logical connection of words

OApGpApGpS OApGpApGpG

there are thus sorry there two possibilities are three possibilities in the poem – there are the third is words that fill in inspiration the holes and cover the coup de grace those words over the silence that come from and there are words no one knows where that are identical therefore every with themselves poem is fragmentary with what should because no one can stand there – now try write down and find out completely what which are which is unwritable

192 OApGpFpApA OApGpFpApF

i think about i do not this while regard this as any continuing across great tragedy the straws of the stubble: only hope that that i will never the path of the poem get to complete among these my poem unknown fragments because it opens will join them outwards onto ever together into the greater realities whole (in this and inwards case a harvested onto ever field of barley) that deeper silences is called a world

OApGpFpAP

and at times it is not large no larger than a dolmen in the middle of the barley where a lone elder tree stands in black majesty until now when i illuminate it to the public by the words of the poem

OA G F A S p p p p OApGpFpApG

i believe this as there was i write but not much left lose at least over that time half – so the world became of my walk half as large – i from sandåsvej also lose a couple of along unknown details a couple of words paths over the poem’s of the fragments field (or i can hardly recall any more the field’s poem?) so the world to this dolmen became a cobweb and this net where this where the fly fly is precisely squirming awaits its spider

193 OApGpFpSpA OApGpFpSpF

mental exercise tilt your head number five backwards and listen place your wine glass can you hear it: over on the smoker’s table distant cars the murmuring turn off the television of the wind in the trees say to your wife: the moths? i’m just going out for good – then look a moment – then go straight up at the sky out into the summer canopus should be night and place directly above yourself in a dark place your head – can you see it? for example good – then listen to under the honeysuckle the heart’s regular beat

OApGpFpSP

now i will ask you after having counted to three to jump as high in the air as you can and down again you are allowed to bend your knees you must really make an effort are you ready? then begin

OA G F S S p p p p OApGpFpSpG

one – can you three – did you jump? notice the slight good – now do sense of giddiness the same inside at having to yourself – not lose contact with solid ground? as a notion two – can you but in reality notice the anxiety go inside again creep into you turn on the television at having to pick up your glass from leave what is safe behind the smoker’s table – say: here surely no – for i am again – carry on as if there’s nothing to nothing be afraid of either had happened

194 OApGpFpGpA OApGpFpGpF

my right hand i once went hello hello to a chiromancer here comes my he said that right hand into there were too many the poem and literally fine lines in my shakes you by hands which the hand – yes was due to a certain only literally tenseness i ought to what though – i add and then answered if it was it has what is more the fine lines itself written that are the cause of the poem about itself the tenseness?

OApGpFpGP

he was unable to understand this psycho physical question even so i returned home with a certain trembling and inked in my lifeline with red ink – did my death really depend on it or the opposite? i was also unable to understand the effect of this double causal relation

OA G F G G OApGpFpGpS p p p p

that brings me my left hand to another byebye byebye problem about the cack-hand as it the poets that always is also called write about i now take what is a problem my leave of you for them – clearly while the right demonstrated by a is busy certain rosa abrahamsen registering this who lay completely in the poem – can paralysed in a respirator you see it still she ‘wrote’ precisely a waving above the lines poem called: hands auf wiedersehen

195 OA G S A A p p p p OApGpSpApF

come my love there where even let me show the images are etched you where the out by the everlasting flowers grow sharp light and on a hill only hold their own higher than time on the lost where there stands a coins in the dust red-painted wagon come let us that no one uses climb up onto any more – come let this range of hills us force a path together and through language out onto reconquer reality the other side of the soul rediscover the world

OApGpSpAP

come my love precisely this day when the wasps are swarming in the snowberry bushes and the estate agent has put the first summer cottages up for sale when the hollyhock gleams more darkly than altar wine precisely this day i will show you where the everlasting flowers grow

OA G S A S p p p p OApGpSpApG

and now i see neither of us knows you bow down if we and pick really experienced at least ten this – but out everlasting flowers there in the scullery for me – even though the everlasting flowers one was enough hang on a yes now i see mint-coloured wall you bow down and here they now to love hang in the poem and pick at least head downwards ten everlasting flowers like hung among my words pheasant – for ever

196 OApGpSpFpA OApGpSpFpF

when we turned that time too into nostrupvej we knew that poetry it was suddenly after this poem like the first time would never we read a certain be the same poem (which i that it was not just will not name here) a question of a usual perhaps it had change of direction (from to do with the stubble the brass of the wheatfields to fires that had just bells of the oatfields been lit from which for example) the swallows swirled but that poetry up like flakes of soot had been struck to the heart

OApGpSpFP

the way back was blocked by the farmers cottages’ thatched roofs of small enclosed poems which would rouse the readers’ enthusiasm because they lay like rubies in what was known surrounded and protected by the late and beautiful autumn light of the gladioli

OApGpSpFpS OApGpSpFpG

the way forward there was no would from now on getting round it only come to a dead end we had to or go round in circles transverse this like the meandering margins direction: back and of the combined harvester forth – we had to leave or tractor nostrupvej we had would only end as to steer ten avantgardism in degrees more towards some barn or other the heart – we had where a forage harvester to venture out stood and rusted away into the apocalypse like an iron saurian of the burning fields

197 OApGpSpSpA OApGpSpSpF

we entered what a joy this smoking poem it was to see like some sort of our old poems knights of st john burn to ashes pathetic in our literally to see green wellies words such as ‘stalk’ but more than that ‘straw’ and ‘stubble’ ridiculous in be ablaze our jackets from what balm the army surplus stores it was to see all but more than that these meanings go fatuous – but more up in smoke like a prayer than that: called to god for other words

OApGpSpSP

what dangerous pyromania had not seized us what vandalism what asphyxiation – and we were also unable to see in here in the central turbulence of the sacrificial fire – what fever what infection of the spirit had not possessed us?

OA G S S S p p p p OApGpSpSpG

and yet there was when evening approached no other place there was still we would rather a gleam deep down stay than here in the glowing no other illness poems where we would rather being and nothingness suffer from than this met there seventh day fever where the words no other poem came into being out of which we would rather stand the world was created in than precisely this one the words that no one right now before can utter the fire was about to die down or write down

198 OApGpSpGpA OApGpSpGpF

you move in there are more than and out of my three paces from poems beloved your reality through a pearly gate to my poem back and forth beloved more than between the poem the three paces and reality you are now taking you move beloved towards me wearing on a bridge finer nothing except a than ivory short vest that leads across there is an infinity the abysses of decision in my mind between us

OApGpSpGP

and before you make it over to this verse across wastelands of white paper we have long since been in bed together i have long since made love to you we have long since got up once more and are busy with other activities it has long since become september

OA G S G G OApGpSpGpS p p p p

how great the distance from your blue is beloved eyes that reflect from reality the ulstrup sky and to paper chicory to these it is greater than nouns there is from stenhammar’s more than half first quartet to a life’s work and the sixth it is when once you have less than from entered the poem rose to rose – on the you will never escape again one hand there are a but by then it is couple of seconds on the of course no longer other an eternity you beloved

199 OApGpGpFpA OApGpGpFpF

comes september i play strange burnt umber twelve-tone sonatas and the redcurrant bushes and ask myself that bedew with blue odd questions the wasps fall such as for groundlessly example: what onto large stones and stands in the poem do not take to flight and what does not stand again in the poem and what the first fields is inbetween are already ploughed what is that? like language that is that the turns inside-out included third?

OApGpGpFP

or what is in the poem – is that the same as what is not not in the poem? is the double negative really the same as the positive? perhaps it is precisely the poem’s prerogative to be able to open up this illogical third possibility?

OApGpGpFpS OApGpGpFpG

namely: that comes september the poem is neither violet with salt what is there nor and the light that what is not there wails from on high but is what like a flail is not not there down into the poem (which is thus spreading words and not the same as husks in all what is there) directions into the but something deeper darkness of new questions – inside the words the rooks for example more than in the gaps what mischief are they that illuminate the poem up to in the dry trees?

200 OA G G S A p p p p OApGpGpSpF

on the stroke of since the poem does twenty-nine the not contain time red admiral arrived but is only this year once more in time and as precise as the dial since it is the reader’s on its wings time and my time that dusted with pass while we read white and illogical numbers and write the poem more precise than respectively and not i who am four the poem’s time this outlined days too late on course of time could the move here on be a swindle the second of september as art swindles with time

OApGpGpSP

i could of course have written down the poem on the twenty- ninth of august even though the red admiral did not arrive until the second of september at the resplendent geysers of the buddleia – why should i have done that? to get some secret metaphysics to tally

OApGpGpSpS OApGpGpSpG

i could also have how could the written the poem in red admiral know december while the that i was waiting for first snow was falling over it? – how the burnt-out sparklers could it know that it of the buddleia would arrive on precisely the possibilities are legion the twenty-ninth of august? but let us now it was able to assume that i have because the workings of its not swindled that the course tiny clock its of time is true – what twenty-four rubies have been then? then the time has come to synchronised with praise yet another miracle god’s far larger one

201 OApGpGpGpA OApGpGpGpF

the tortoiseshell with what does it want the brilliant here on this pen samurai colours also hasn’t it enough want to enter the poem in the butterfly i assume this catcher’s pins at any rate since what does it want it alights here in this prison on my light-blue of words where nylon shirt just only eternity above the heart rules – hasn’t it and begins soundlessly enough in the to clash its antennae butterfly catcher’s together like swords violet boxes?

OApGpGpGP

doesn’t it know that in here a tortoiseshell is transformed into a ‘tortoiseshell’ that in here the tortoiseshell becomes a symbol for every thing except itself that in here the tortoiseshell will be at the disposal of the poet’s most senseless whims doesn’t it know that?

OA G G G G OApGpGpGpS p p p p of course the tortoiseshell come then all knows that – but my butterflies that is not what come tortoiseshell come it wants either red admiral come cabbage it wants to enter white come peacock another poem that with your no mask contradicts the crumpled of lacquer come in butterflies of these poems i do not contradict logic shrubs that will i contradict everything never flower again i can understand in a colour more come in here then violet than where i know you will die but catholic silks believe you will rise again

202 OSpApApApA OSpApApApF

ode to the it came from outside red admiral that the purple of reality has just flown in order to rest into my poem here for a moment and perched here on the white immortality on the first line of the paper before as its own flying off once more out noun and that into reality now changes position towards the southeast to the bottom in order to line as its spend the winter own proper noun: close to vanessa atalanta byron’s grave

OSpApApAP

let me while i have it here yet again admire its wings where the crown jewels have been cast like dice over death’s velvet let me award you the prize for september redder than the lenin order red as its own bandolier

OS A A A G OSpApApApS p p p p

perhaps if i no better turned the page here to release it i could manage to once more before i see the under regret doing so before side of its wings my soul is with their secret damaged by its formulas written in ash beauty – out with yes i could well you dammit out carry out that trick onto the other side but i refrain from of my poem doing so so as when death waits not to undermine its masked as a authenticity any further red admiral

203 OS A A F A p p p p OSpApApFpF

i have walked down it is not reality along røsnæs vænge i am attempting to and have ended up in a transcribe poem that looks like and not the words a meadow fenced in i am seeking to give with an electric fence a new meaning that it is a poem or a different is so obvious to me meaning to what they have because words do not i don’t really know cast shadows – only what it is i am sheep and thistles do doing here beneath that here as in a pic the whipped egg-whites ture by the preraphaelites of the clouds

OSpApApFP

perhaps i want the poem not only to relate to the whirling groundsels of reality or to the ‘whirling groundsels’ of words but also to relate to itself as a second poem within the poem – i don’t really know

OSpApApFpS OSpApApFpG

because such a i mean: second poem røsnæs vange in order to be able trails off into a to relate to itself gravel path that ends would in turn have to house at a pumping station a third poem planted round with which in its turn would definitive sloe bushes contain a fourth but where does poem and so on the archimedean screw end in a never-ending screw that constantly a never-ending spiral screws further into itself staircase of turquoise in towards its own point? behind the temporal bone i don’t really know

204 OSpApApSpA OSpApApSpF

if i walk down if i look along the one into the ‘summer cottage’ path past the sheep i can only see an fold it looks ‘amateur painting’ of a as if i ‘sunset am stopped over the sea’ of a by the words it looks “sunset as if i over the sea” of a get jammed “‘sunset between the words over the sea’” ‘sea’ and ‘sky’ into infinity and ‘summer cottage’ bordering on there in the ‘pinewood’ the inexpressible

OSpApApSP

if i walk down the other path through the gate to the west it looks as if i am stopped by other pictures than the picture of the sunset i walk down towards here where the sun really hangs red with bauxite above the cliff edge

OSpApApSpS OSpApApSpG

if i force my way there must be through the first a third path picture of friedrich’s in the poem that sunset out to connects these the second picture of two inexpressibilities nolde’s sunset with each other in behind herbin’s or resolves them sunset i am suddenly into an expressibility once more standing on a third path that the border of the joins language inexpressible: the and reality together real sunset into one world there outside the poem sunset over the sea

205 OSpApApGpF OSpApApGpA

what’s it all about? out on røsnæsvejen when the fisherman the cars often drive my neighbour sunday at over a hundred after sunday kilometres an hour rebuilds his they simply zoom away carport covers it competing with with laths extends it the low-flying fortifies it and then jet fighters and at the end also paints its of the road there is only alternately brown and a co-op and military green in farthest out a lighthouse the autumn – what’s i’m just asking: what’s it all about then? this all about?

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not because i’ve anything against it it’s just that i wonder i know for example poets and writers that populate the one fairytale after the other with elves and angels and strange unicorns – i mean: what on earth is it all about?

OSpApApGpS OSpApApGpG

when day after day i can of course i fill up only answer for the one void myself – but after the other i think that these inside in the brain’s strange acts fixed point with and rituals are models of my a kind of tactic house while i or therapy if stay inside you like that is in the closed rooms to shorten the wait of the house – what between god’s the hell is it touching of my all about then? body and my soul

206 OSpApFpApA OSpApFpApF

i had known “hollyhocks that too the whole time of high have striven course that it and topple red had to end badly in tears” – i read the hollyhocks had out loud for them become too high and as they lay there mighty – metre by pathetically at metre they had my feet crossed raised their esoteric in heraldic pride sceptre up through blown over the months to by the westerly gale’s measure up to first fugue summer’s standard from the sky organs

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and what were they doing up there anyway where only the sun and the birds feel at ease what were they doing sticking their heads up through the clouds up into infinity where lack of breath reigns and the gleam of the summer lightning sears – didn’t they know that miracles only take place on earth?

OSpApFpApS OSpApFpApG look at the black-eyed susan oh you stupid i said to them hollyhocks – how it knows how much even so i love to keep its gold your vanity purer than when you shout after any paraclesus me in your look at the black-eyed susan lacquer red megaphones: it knows that do not forget us it is enough of even though we now a miracle in itself have fallen – do not look at the black-eyed susan’s forget that we stormed seventh day the sky in spite of everything i said to them do not forget us mr poet

207 OS A F F F OSpApFpFpA p p p p

then i lift i have never my index finger and thought about let it point up in what i use the air – not as my middle finger for a warning not but now i do so so as to point to anything the first thing in particular but as in that occurs to me a zen-buddhist is that it is koan and the information indispensable if is not slow in you want to play coming: it is without a b on the cornet doubt the index finger for then you have to of my right hand depress the second piston

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i am not quite clear if the ring finger was in volved in schumann’s experiments with tying his fingers together so as to play certain chords but i have noticed that i myself use it to flick the ash off my cigarette from time to time

OSpApFpFpS OSpApFpFpG

a little finger have you ever tried must stick out it to pick your simply must nose with your stick out as if it thumb? – it’s no did not have anything good for doing that to do with the other nor is it really fingers and then it any good for must have a diamond underlining something ring on – otherwise it but what a isn’t a little finger fingerprint it from which i can deduce can leave behind what a that my little finger bruise it can leave on isn’t a little finger the petal of a poppy

208 OS A F S A p p p p OSpApFpSpF

mental exercise now turn the paper number six over and try sit down at your to describe a oak writing desk model of your place a sheet of surroundings as best paper in front of you you can: the neighbour’s describe the sky house over there in and the stars the dark lit up larger than above by a crystal chandelier the hills of your distant towns you childhood describe can still recall far the night’s off on the other fanned-out peacock’s tail side of the dream

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then concentrate on converting your garden into language flower for flower tree for tree write this sentence down: roses flower for half a year poems flower for ever – write it down on the paper and learn it by heart

OS A F S S p p p p OSpApFpSpG

now it’s the turn finally take a of your own house new sheet of paper sit down in out of the drawer and the middle of your house place it in front of you and reproduce on the writing desk exactly its layout carefully copy the surface the relation of the rooms of this writing desk to each other what is lying on the positions of the doors it: a packet of kings whether the kitchen a pair of glasses kingo’s faces south the grammar winter hymns and this of the wallpapers et drawing which contains cetera etc. this drawing which ...

209 OS A S A F OSpApSpApA p p p p

we stood once more on we stood once more on the edge of the poem hellesklint high with white faces above the red like scraped bones arrow of truth that pale from too much pointed into itself reality which if we stepped was also just a one pace forwards we word that was would plunge down inadequate for into what ‘reality’ what we wanted to say referred to and if we everything outside stepped one pace backwards language that we we would be caught in the were unable to say fox trap of ‘reality’

OSpApSpAP

we tried our luck with a final word: ‘dog rose’ because it stood there anyway on the border of our poem and almost stretched a branch into its shadows while the sun stroked its leaves and crown as in shostakovich’s tenth quartet

OS A S A S p p p p OSpApSpApG

we extended we had to walk on language to its further along this uttermost potential curved arc planted with the proper noun with sea buckthorn illu ‘rosa rugosa’ but minated by distant little good did it do lightning and the day us – the last the miracle came to us millimetre was we would scarcely insuperable notice it and irretrievable as the heart even if we did it was not here no one would believe we were to solve that the word of the miracle the paradox of the poem had taken place

210 OSpApSpSpA OSpApSpSpF

it is easy to it is not so drown out the silence much reality’s walk with me own sounds that stifle down hvedevej where the silence as you the autumn ploughing yourself because you has just started make yourself deaf and lose and the screech of the gulls yourself in the selfsame sounds like an reality’s accidents orgasm in the wake because you concentrate of the tractor more on hearing listen to life’s lapping if it is a massey of topsoil in or a fergusson over the reef of silence tractor here on hvedevej

OSpApSpSP

if you continue with me down behind the charred thorns of the sloe hedgerow where no sound distracts you except for the beating of your own heart you will discover that the total lack of sound can drown out the voice of silence with its double echo

OSpApSpSpS OSpApSpSpG

because you once more it is easy enough are wrapped up in reality to drown out the silence in this case all you need to do its last is follow me out instance because you along hvedevej where once more are fascinated by the sun hangs like a a dead bird globe of napalm (the tiny binnacle of its behind the singed cranium – the colours’ black snowberries and speak caput mortuum) about the ‘silence’ because you let then you the whorl of death engulf simply talk the silence into itself it to death

211 OSpApSpGpA OSpApSpGpF

if you dare you i cut off a can of course follow me branch and a bit further smelt its or the rest of the scent of sperm and way down to the sea cellulose – then down to the rugosa coast i put my ear severe as shosta to a rose hip kovich’s eighth and listened for a long time string quartet – i to its small did not hear the sleeping beauty’s palace silence there but i listened longer sensed it behind the rose than was good to got an erection out of fear that sinus tone

OSpApSpGP

i pricked myself on a thorn yes pricked myself on a thorn as in the book of fairytales the book of fairytales and the blood became this poem yes the blood became this poem sealed with seven seals seven seals of inner silence

OS A S G G OSpApSpGpS p p p p

i picked the if you dare you loveliest flower can of course follow me of madder lake a bit further red as or the rest of the kamchatka way down to the sea muter than a rose down to grown in mutus liber the rugosa coast severe up out of the bitter as shostakovich’s phosphate of the eighth string quartet indescribable – i i did not hear the picked its petals silence there but i one by one and let sensed it behind the rose them fall to the ground like a sudden satori

212 OS A G A F OSpApGpApA p p p p

the rose is still the rugosa rose down on flowering – gleaming sønderstrand beach in there in the charcoal the light stands round stacks of the night cold it as in a who has filled painting by claude its crown lorraine – or rather with english salt as the light in a painting who has dipped by claude lorraine its hip in placed out in the light lacquer from sadolin for a long time i look og holmblad at it before i say: well go on i have – in the poem say something – don’t just stand in other words there dumb with light in my poem

OSpApGpAP

do you want to show me your small emerald heart the pentagramme of your floral receptacle your small five-star krasnaja svesda even though it is green? do you want to show me your hip seeds that look like ant’s eggs do you want to show me the red quadrature of your unwritableness?

OSpApGpApS OSpApGpApG

dammit – i my soul is not can’t get that a rosebush rosebush out and the rosebush doesn’t of my head nor have a soul into it either so i wonder why what am i to do the rosebush flowers? with it? – the rosebush the rosebush out there and the word flowers in ‘rosebush’ in here the silence that what connects them is found neither more that it here nor there separates them but that reigns from each other’s light? half-way between

213 OSpApGpFpA OSpApGpFpF

rosa rugosa – goodbye i must roam i turn my back along other roads on you now with you down along the dark paths standing there in your of syntax loveliest apparel around in the rugosa scrub on the border of the of logic unwritable – redder goodbye little star than snow and whiter lovelier than than blood – goodbye little any lenin order star that does not remember that cannot the wars of the roses nor does know what god it know the final dogma of demands in return for poetry-writing: immortality your hips by the thousand

OSpApGpFP

i must search else where – inwards into the soul’s cave-ins from which long passages link my heart with your tangled root systems i will find my half truths here in the complete kingdom of lies among the bitter dog roses of language

OS A G F G OSpApGpFpS p p p p

i must walk the full length goodbye little star of the black line of pure as a the poem in order to catechism – how break through its am i to explain mirror in order to this mistake to you this go beyond the border necessary mistake? of the unwritable and if my pilgrimage among used words from one noun and murdered butter to the next flies – there is one image after all only a to the next second separating does not succeed only us – but what a second! the poem’s ashes will remain

214 OS A G S A p p p p OSpApGpSpF

rust berries and smoke in the fields down the month of the spiders towards nordstranden the helenium looks like the big straw wheels used matches are standing again like now after all pieces in some that light – the strange board game farmers are ploughing the birds are gathering the apples are ripening in flocks or slowly but surely sitting on the power lines inside their cores gazing out across sejrø god is sitting bugten what can they see the fence has to be repaired over there on the other the poem has to be written side of october?

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small heaps of lime lie in the corners of the violet rectangles like surrealist mountains perhaps it is from their summits that this sour taste of soda on one’s lips comes from? no it’s more likely to be coming from the asnæs plant’s dark autumn emissions

OSpApGpSpS OSpApGpSpG

the caravans everywhere things to be done are returning home to before the winter the gardens – the winter i must remember to timetable is beginning plant the new the sun is shining tulip bulbs (queen of through a thin the night) before the night piece of parchment frost starts without watermarks in it perhaps i ought also on beskesvej the final to dig in a few touches are being laid to secret words into a house that’s not for the poem so they can living in – god knows what unexpectedly and miraculously it’s to be used for then flower when spring comes?

215 OSpApGpGpA OSpApGpGpF

i stare hard at but it is my you with my eyes we’re dealing with small blinking now – a bit rusty boar’s eyes beloved here in october but leaden like the lake also with gold glints as of peblingesø when in certain liqueurs i saw it last a load of crap they have i stare at you seen out there but with my glowering also into the violet pig’s eyes – and why light of introspection do i do that? – because and they also are in need i am what elsewhere is of new glasses but referred to as: elated that’s another matter

OSpApGpGP

i have of course never seen my eyes (that would call for a pair of meta-eyes) but that doesn’t matter much for as they grow old they have become more and more interested in observing their outside world whilst paradoxically enough becoming increasingly worse and worse at doing so

OSpApGpGpS OSpApGpGpG

by and large i am god you gave content with my me my eyes eyes even though precisely so that i the left one has should be able to see some astigmatism which my love’s eyes blue perhaps means that with forgetmenots i see something you gave me else than what i my eyes precisely should see – but so that i should so what? – that means see them in i see something her eyes so no one else that the paradox can see was resolved

216 OSpFpApApA OSpFpApApF

i discover that for years i have schack staffeldt talked to the trees was considered not simply carried on mad because he green conversations talked to the trees as you might call in the park at them but man gottorp – if that to tree i diagnosis holds good have in direct i too am ready speech communicated to be committed with them forthwith to for years i have the nearest considered them good mental hospital conversation partners

OSpFpApAP

only yesterday i said to a rowan tree: listen here mr rowan your berries will unfortunately become ‘rowanberries’ when they fall into my poem no matter how much i try to preserve them it is and remains a sour task

OS F A A S p p p p OSpFpApApG

the rowan tree as you can replied: mr poet read: trees that’s not my are far from department – if you stupid or will simply let inarticulate so my berries fall they prefer onto the ground gardeners to where they belong poets if and not end up in it comes to it – your poem – then but now you’ll there would be at least have to excuse me two problems i have an appointment less in the world with a pear tree

217 OS F A F F OSpFpApFpA for asger p p p p

i could have i could also have written: the chattels created so great a whirl round my vacuum in language head like electrons that all the domestic utensils sieve colander and would have been soup spoons fly sucked into this around my ears vortex like this year’s like a reality huge brood of of the second order gamma moths – that like an actuality is what i could have written within an actuality to stay in one if you particular tradition understand that metaphor

OSpFpApFP

i could so to speak have crept up on the kitchen utensils have laid in ambush in the poem not to mention the objects i would draw attention to i could have pressed them down so violently that the buoyancy would force them out

OSpFpApFpS OSpFpApFpG

conversely i could i could have have compressed done this so as language to praise the inventory with images have filled but i chose to each and every bottle open a perfectly with moonlight random kitchen drawer surrounded each and there the poultry every knife with an aura shears lie to the left of fear so the skewers in the middle that finally the things the carving set to the would have exploded by them right the whole surgical selves leapt into kit – i choose the eyes of the reader holy precision

218 OS F A S F OSpFpApSpA p p p p

where does egeskovvej naturally i did lead to what not expect far side of to find an egeskov the season’s madder lake let alone the oak scrub’s and cinnober to secret what far cream of tartar side of the poem a name like that i will ‘egeskov’ (oak wood) perhaps never get clearly demonstrates the to know because relation of language language isn’t adequate to the nature it like a game of patience refers to: the that doesn’t come out distant lovers

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on the other hand i came across an indefinably amorphous heap covered with black plastic a sorites perhaps or clamp in the vernacular and i found out that this little barrow was quite an apposite image for the situation here on egeskovvej

OS F A S S p p p p OSpFpApSpG

i could lift i could of a corner of the course say: black plastic and ‘sugar beet’ or look inside at ‘silage’ – but reality there that was not what but then the problem was i saw – it wasn’t that i would not be words i saw able to express what inside there under the i saw because black plastic language was which when it comes to it precisely the black could just as well sheet of plastic that lay have been transparent over this clamp in this equation

219 OS F A G F OSpFpApGpA p p p p

it was as if for the time being i for a brief moment would not make up my i once more realised mind about the difficulty the connection: that could be expressed that the poem was thus: where was the distance or i myself? – in the whole the relation the tie i could not the thread be implicit that linked language and when it was and reality the case it was together into one weave of course not the whole – in the pattern i made do with believing that is called the world in the interconnectedness

OSpFpApGP

i preferred to ask in a different way: was it then the poem i was now binding together her on egeskovvej while the sun set out there and i was registering the green gleam that i thought i could make out in language was i standing in the poem?

OS F A G S p p p p OSpFpApGpG

wasn’t i rather the paradox is: killing the poem to make the unstated by stating this said and all of that between the said words that ought unstated – and to remain unsaid and i chose that implicit so that day on egeskovvej the unstated only stood to make the said out between what unstated and was said – wasn’t it that which now stood precisely thus that between the words the unstated really i chose to get ought to be said? behind language

220 OSpFpFpApA OSpFpFpApF

i latched on i was better able to to this expression accept the first part of the while continuing paradox: ‘to make along egeskovvej which the unstated said’ now slowly that after all was darkened into malachite: simply a variant ‘to make the said of the selfsame un-stated’ it sounded paradox taken to its undeniably as strange logical conclusion: ‘ to say the as every paradox unstatable’ – something happens to sound: every poet worth his salt ‘to make the with attempt to do said un-stated’ at some time or other

OSpFpFpAP

‘to make the said unstated’ – i said it aloud to myself could it by implication mean: that in order to get the unstated said the said had precisely not to keep attention fixed on itself but had so to speak to reduce itself towards the unstated?

OSpFpFpAS OSpFpFpApG

it was not to be if that was the taken to mean that case the said and the unstated was the unstated would something completely different be two sides of the from that which was same thing two sides said – the unstated of the same was merely the reverse coin – what sort of of the said – that thing was that? – what sort reverse which turned of coin was that? inwards towards silence could i find it so that the said here in the dust on ege became the voice of the unstated skovvej where there was now the voice of silence a strong smell of slurry?

221 OS F F F A p p p p OSpFpFpFpF

language has its and the place was own mysteries and a farm a quite reality likewise ordinary farm if they deep with farmhouse on down were the same the left and stable and i did not know and barn on the right it did not was i to take particularly interest me that as an answer it was the poem’s to something i could egeskovvej i was not remember i following to the place where had asked about? it ended behind the what silence was i scarlet drapery of autumn to give voice to here?

OSpFpFpFP

then i saw it down there diagonally behind my shoulder egeskov wood stood even so tall and black in the dusk i now knew what it was i was to say without saying it – now it had been said and yet not said it seemed to me for a brief instant

OS F F F G OSpFpFpFpS p p p p

language and reality i had arrived had once more drawn at this boundary close to each other many times before i was neither to say and had been halted ‘egeskovvej’ as now – i knew nor not say that well but i ‘egeskovvej’ – somewhere also knew that or other in only on the far between the solution side of this boundary lay to the would the resolution mystery of the poem – i be able to take place only had to break the and (strangely three basic rules of logic enough) vice versa

222 OS F F S F OSpFpFpSpA p p p p

i start laying i don’t otherwise out the sevens patience believe much in that while i wait for sort of coincidence: my cat to pictures that fall decide to down at precisely die – the difficult sevens twelve o’clock patience where you are and electric light only allowed to turn the bulbs that short cards once – perhaps too circuit at the same time so as to kill time but i know that when i am perfectly well the patience comes out aware that this is a it’s over then conclusion symbolic assignment and decision have become one

OSpFpFpSP

now patience is a logical game and therefore has a logical conclusion unlike life which often ends quite illogically and randomly but precisely there where conclusion and decision cross each other the completion occurs rather than death

OS F F S S p p p p OSpFpFpSpG

this my cat and that i know knows (cats know so well therefore i am much more between also quietly waiting heaven and earth) whilst laying out and is therefore the cards until patiently waiting the ace of hearts has brought for the last card the last love the last ace of hearts between us into place to fall then i also take the into place in final decision the patience before watch out – one fine day taking its your own patience final decision will suddenly come out

223 OS F S A A p p p p OSpFpSpApF

if later on my ears now seem in the year you should to me myself more meet me with to resemble a bandage round the large sycamore my head a la van leaves of autumn gogh it is spotted with rust because my wife and wax – sometimes has for ages felt even as large tempted by my as tomio miki’s ears’ pure lü aluminium ear becker marzipan and that hangs has finally eaten on the wall at the left one raw louisiana and hears all

OSpFpSpAP

i sleep like a log on my green ear and from time to time my ears turn red with shame in frosty weather they grow blue and violet and white with marble in moonlight in summer brown and yellow like wax when i die but when do they turn black?

OSpFpSpApS OSpFpSpApG

in one ear god – you gave and out me my ears the other – in just so i the other ear should hear my and out the one love pee out the one at night like ear and in a spring of the other – out boiling silver the other ear just so i and in the should hear johann one – until sebastian bach’s silence alone reigns cantatas in the daytime and in there one day the silence in between

224 OS F S F A p p p p OSpFpSpFpF

i’m almost the noun afraid of words ‘sea buckthorn’ seems today – i hardly hostile to me even dare write even directly dangerous ‘asters’ even though as if the paper they admittedly have could catch fire come out along if i wrote it the spruce-stem fence and down – as if look like the small fabric- in some way covered buttons or other i on my wife’s dress could invoke the one she otherwise the words’ meaning never wears directly into the poem

OSpFpSpFP

perhaps this strange fear of the word ‘blackbird’ for example is because the boys outside on the road are shooting with bows and arrows at the blackbirds today as if the birds’ fear was able to be transmitted via the words to me

OSpFpSpFpS OSpFpSpFpG

it could also if that is the just possibly be that case then perhaps my fear is due the poem will divulge to some truth or something of my own other that future and the the poem hides more i would from me among attempt to write this the words and that in the way i i first have to please or rewrite unearth – first it the more can read when the poem the poem would expose is lying on the table the lie when it in front of me first was finished

225 OSpFpSpSpA OSpFpSpSpF

my half reality – or the fir tree yes any fool on asnæs that was can say that – swathed in a but you are garland of honey in actual fact my suckle – ‘look half reality beloved it looks like a things i don’t see lit-up christmas tree’ you notice and you said and draw my attention expanded my to as now reality made the tiny robin the universe larger yesterday that otherwise for me and i would not have seen more sparkling

OSpFpSpSP

you extend my senses beloved i perceive almost twice as much when you are present and i am no longer cut off with my own observa tions no longer restricted to my own world’s roses you double my reality beloved

OS F S S S p p p p OSpFpSpSpG

and not simply you can work out that – who would for yourself what have thought that this means i contained so when you’re away pure emotions so can’t you? – then great and wild a i am only half love if myself only you had not been half present there to awaken here in the midst it if you had of the autumn’s not melted great invasion of the heart’s rust and death and hard cinnober? swirling gamma moths

226 OS F S G A p p p p OSpFpSpGpF

mental exercise feel how number seven the cancer’s primadonna sit down next is dancing on her to one you are fond mountain of black varnish of who’s about to die how life (it’s all right to choose is fighting its a cat if you final battle and feel that would slowly ebbing away make it do not show the slightest easier) place your hand sign of fear on this person or creature why should you and feel the disease raging do that anyway it’s not in there in the body you who have to die yet

OSpFpSpGP

now say in a firm and clear voice: there is no such thing as death death is only a transition to eternal life – go on say it i mean: you are a christian aren’t you – you haven’t just had water poured over your head it actually meant something – didn’t it?

OSpFpSpGpS OSpFpSpGpG

continue with refrain from even greater emphasis crying show no and without grief – there is trembling: Oh death no reason for it where is thy sting it is a happy Oh grave where is event you are thy victory – present at – isn’t it? see the dying one right it is when all in the eyes and is said and done say it loud and the final miracle clear – you don’t want in the seventh night to make a joke of the so phone death scriptures do you? and get it over with

227 OS F G A F OSpFpGpApA p p p p

can’t i write only a little a collection of poems she-cat from dammit the mazes of nørrebro without death only a little she-cat crossing its path? with eyes wise i’m getting tired like the s’ung dynasty of death tired only a little she-cat of my morbid that confirmed interest in death baudelaire’s diary tired of writing poems only a little she-cat about death even though that filled more than it only took a my heart for thirteen little cat this time years – nothing more than that

OSpFpGpAP

as if death took any notice of anything at all as if death could be bought with minced meat and portuguese sardines – but what on the other hand would i have done with an immortal cat? – it would have been a monster

OSpFpGpApS OSpFpGpApG

as if death can’t i write could be fooled a collection of poems by castor oil dammit as if death without death could be kept in crossing its traces? no – check by vismuth not if these have as if death been left by life laid out a patience i’m getting tired but i stole a of my pain march on it tired of my grief this time with a tired of putting syringe in the my grief on show this vet’s violet hand seventh day’s evening

228 OSPFPGPFPA OSPFPGPFPF

ode to my nose when i was a boy that is neither my nose was roman nor a fine small particularly jewish bottle nose and that is not of as the years have passed silver or bronze it has acquired more nor of the form and a more marble that is exciting patina missing on certain as in one of frans greek statues hals’ portrait studies ode to my good when i grow old old danish-design it will perhaps look like a model of a nose pyramid – who knows?

OSPFPGPFP

i have stuck my nose into much putrescence the smell of hot solar oil or of naphthalene from the men’s toilets have filled up its sinuses but no stench was greater than the latrine of politics and culture

OS F G F S P P P P OSPFPGPFPG

i also admit god – you gave that i have me my nose hair in my nose just so that i small corkscrew curls could stick or spirals it into my from a watch love’s armpits they are sure and fill it with to prevent mayflies nitrogens just from flying so that i should in through smell the hearts one nostril and out i am boiling the other for my cat or up into my brain in a iron pot

229 for thorkild bjørnvig OS S A F F OSPSPAPFPA P P P P

whoa – what’s that it surely can’t out there on be – no it the lawn? can’t be but what kind of maybe – it damn a bird is that with well is a thrush spotted breast and just hand me the speckled like a binoculars – it piano concerto by has a white marking keith jarrett? there a large right out there among white eyebrow the withered tin pyramids as on a mask of the leaves can you it’s a thrush see it beloved? at any rate – thanks

OSPSPAPFP

why the hell are the binoculars never ready – they’ve been adjusted to a wall-eyed idiot ah there – now i can see it: its flanks are red as rowan jelly like a bird on a silver platter it’s so help me god a redwing

OSPSPAPFPS OSPSPAPFPG

my first red i wonder where it’s wing – beloved off to? – let me quick the bird book see what does it now not that one say here: siberia the other one (such a little communist) dammit – yes there winter quarters we have it in southwest europe one to one i bloody well think i’ll pure isomorphism dedicate it to no not quite thorkild bjørnvig there’s the burning it’s damn well going pitcoal of its eye even so to migrate in that differs across issehoved on its way

230 OSPSPAPSPA OSPSPAPSPF

here inside the house a silence in another stillness the furniture in reigns an the chairs in the cupboards unarticulated stillness in my writing desk which is perhaps that i constantly more of a speechlessness seek to break or a whorl by my presence here of silence deep for example by down in things drumming with that i can really only my biro on hear in my sleep the oak surface or by when i place rattling the an ear to death cups on the table

OSPSPAPSP

an intolerable silence that i constantly seek to drown out with the aid of words ‘wicker chair’ i say out loud or ‘buffet’ or ‘mahogany sideboard’ in order to stop this flapping raven that circles deep down in things

OSPSPAPSPS OSPSPAPSPG

or i try ‘i give things to hide this utterance’ – i say silence by and perhaps that is placing poems what i do for a brief out over the furniture instant (even though it and fixtures is still through me that by giving names to they speak) before they smoker’s tables and folding once more sink chairs invoking into their disconcerting telephones and silence more silent ashtrays wrapping than the stones vases in at the bottom whole sonnet cycles of a static water tank

231 OS S F A F OSPSPFPAPA P P P P

november’s words from unwritten only-begotten light strikes poems mix down into me once more with words from stands once more down forgotten poems in the schism like firewood smoke in snow in everything that is berry-bearing shrubs like divided on this earth triplets from coleman’s dare i believe this saxophone words that welding ray of light collect to form or am i once again this poem that falling out into the dark already when you and the two octants read it have become of the shadows? this poem

OSPSPFPAP

what kind of old fear is it that grasps me why does my hand shake so when i write: november’s hollow pumpkin – booh? why do i snarl here on the threshold of this month when i was born: fuck your mother?

OS S F A G OSPSPFPAPS P P P P

can it be november’s the clouds that only-begotten light are closing in over pure as lapis røsnæs here on is it the light itself all saints’ day larger that frightens me than the soul the actual pain or is it just of enduring the small pop from the light of presence the copper saucepan intolerably pure when one of the in whose rays i soft-boiled eggs cannot conceal cracks that myself – not disturbs me? even from myself?

232 OSPSPFPFPA OSPSPFPFPF

mental exercise walk over to number eight the logs or what stillness is give them a kick and go out into the twilight say: flaming and look at the twenty bloody hell – cubic metres of firewood shut your trap and your neighbour has just listen to how unloaded onto the road the wood mass sucks up right outside your the echo of your words terrace don’t say anything into itself – listen to think you own thoughts how language ebbs struck by the contrary away into the contra opposite of speechlessness dictory opposite

OSPSPFPFP

after that place yourself (note the expression: place yourself) place yourself then directly opposite the beech logs and stay perfectly still – now stillness reigns in the space between you and the wood between your speechlessness and the wood’s silence reigns the stillness

OS S F F G OSPSPFPFPS P P P P

it could also that is why you be said that can break speechlessness speechlessness and by saying silence are negative the word ‘beech log’ definitions whereas and you can stillness is a break silence by positive definition striking the beech log or that speechlessness or kicking it is the unsaid while conversely it silence the is stillness that unsayable breaks you – breaks out and stillness of or into or the inexpressible out from the poem

233 OS S F S A P P P P OSPSPFPSPF

no – not the sycamore what holds its own speckled with red lead in november not even now that the gamma the underwater bells moths have flown of autumn to their indefinable and certainly not cliffs – now that the pheasant cock’s head the sky is that lacquer-gleams grey like saltbæk cove chinese style now that at the edge of the wood even the marigold but this in has closed scription in the heart: around its inner gold kilroy was here and the hollyhock has fallen?

OSPSPFPSP

what holds its own in november now that the hunters are shooting partridge now that adult men for their own pleasure are maiming life? (one ought to surprise them one fine st. hubert’s day with a charge of shot from the oak undergrowth of revenge)

OS S F S G OSPSPFPSPS P P P P

what holds its own the rose does in november the gisselfeld roses now that the garden against the south wall furniture is to be hold the last line of taken in and the gate resistance before shut against frost’s cossacks winter – now will also mow them that sphagnum down in a bloodbath of and sprigs of spruce scattered petals are the only protection i give these against death – now that roses a the trident of darkness knighthood before is being lifted on the horizon? their final battle

234 OSPSPFPGPA OSPSPFPGPF

there are two vacuum the two of them were cleaners to choose brought together in a between: a marriage where each curry-yellow electrolux of the parties that looks like a came with its dachshund and a model of beige-coloured miele modern technology that is more reminiscent or rather perhaps of a bull-dog each its dream now it’s just a question shaped by of making the right modern advertising techniques choice prior to the whatever: they major spring-cleaning also became a couple

OSPSPFPGP

well – i can’t prolong it any longer: the dust is waiting for its vacuum cleaner – its resurrection in a way – nor is it at all reasonable to abuse poetry as a delaying technique for postponing the annual vacuum cleaning

OS S F G S P P P P OSPSPFPGPG

so – an die no dammit this can’t arbeit – accusative go on any more here i recall gloves on from the distant maelstrom i choose the electrolux of german lessons the name sounds so can i just manage efficient – oh if only a cup of coffee one could carry out at the last moment? such a chore as i wonder when vacuum cleaning by the vacuum cleaner was writing a poem invented! – how about it – creatively the hell did people get up sweep a path so to speak dust in the renaissance? to reality

235 OS S S A F OSPSPSPAPA P P P P

you are everywhere if you are not on in my your way into existence beloved another poem if you are not you are looking at me standing right here in the from a photograph poem with your rear without a word or in the air among the action you are chrysanthemums that are lovelier looking at me with than china – you are on a smile that causes your way into another my heart to poem where sweat and my the thunder is roaring like soul to distant artillery cast lilac shadows

OSPSPSPAP

and if you are not smiling to me from the grey-tone scale of the picture i can see you in colour among the key-holes of the imagination stark naked in the bath more naked than fire while the water streams down over the glistening polecat pelt of your pubic hair

OS S S A S P P P P OSPSPSPAPG

and if you are not and if you are not standing there under wandering through the the shower of prohibition allegorical salt of my illuminated by dream to strengthen sperm you are it with caper berries roaming through the long you are sitting right corridors of my opposite me now dreams with a lit spilling orange marme candle in your hand lade on the morning table and rosebushes in your hair of reality – so somewhere or you are transforming other you are always my soul into there in my a gleaming darkness existence beloved

236 OS S S F A P P P P OSPSPSPFPF

the ridge is the name of this of course a small road that is because this lies like a by-way only leads rusty horseshoe back to the main in the ploughed fields road again – is only it curves from a curlicue on language nybyvej into like the grammar language in a that imposes rules and semicircle and back again prohibitions on that to nybyvej – few people language which is a move along its pot-holed prerequisite for the track beneath the autumn selfsame grammar’s clouds of sodden cotton half-withered flowers

OSPSPSPFP

do you understand me do you understand that this paradox does not have any solution either do you understand that the meta-language of natural language is itself – do you understand that the class of natural language ultimately contains itself as a member?

OS S S F S P P P P OSPSPSPFPG

i understood that that is why i gave this st martin’s myself plenty of time day i under to walk round the ridge stood that the origin beneath a sky of language could that was white never be explained as the flesh of plaice because such an i caressed such words explanation would only be able as ‘verb’ or to be expressed in precisely ‘substantive’ – pronounced the language that was to them with care like a be explained i understood goodbye because in the that there was no last resort they more to remember explained nothing

237 OSPSPSPSPA OSPSPSPSPF

strictly speaking i could have all of this made do with could have been completely letting my poem unimportant – i could voice itself simply have in november’s lapis stayed within lazuli – had it not the boundaries of language been that the to put it another poem precisely way: i could wanted that more have made do that the poem like with using language and any other passion not thought further precisely wanted its about the explanations own ruin

OSPSPSPSP

i could simply have followed the road straight ahead – nybyvej and have written about the fields of maize (have you en passant noticed the silken crest of the cobs?) if it had not been for the fact that the poem precisely had to go beyond its own boundaries

OS S S S S P P P P OSPSPSPSPG

i could have do you understand now made do with why i make such the sea at the end remarkable detours of nybyvej and (along the ridge for that would probably example) which have been enough often come to a dead end if the poem or like a did not have to go marching on the stop in into its own centre (though without flattening if the poem the clover) did not have to go out into its do you understand now own inexpressibility precisely why i move in order to state that on the edge of silence?

238 OS S S G A P P P P OSPSPSPGPF

i probably ought but the poem wanted not to have taken things otherwise this road but the poem did not want there is so much to make do with one ought not to: reality and language smoke in bed drink the poem wanted more before breakfast than reality or masturbate for wanted more than example – i probably language the poem ought to have stuck wanted to join them to the beaten track together to form a fugue of reality or to that so close-knit that it could of language at any rate be called the world

OSPSPSPGP

therefore i could not make do with writing viper’s bugloss into the poem blue with electricity and i could not make do with writing ‘viper’s bugloss’ out of the poem – i had to take the path between them link them by a bridge of salt

OS S S G G OSPSPSPGPS P P P P

but i probably why then did ought to have known i nevertheless walk that precisely this along this path where way the ridge would no roses grow be a mistake where language only since it revolves round only linked language itself around its with language own rules and defi (even though i walked nitions? – perhaps along it in precisely reality) and thus because it only defined itself was a mistake – as a curve a necessary mistake

239 OSPSPGPAPA for my mother OSPSPGPAPF

sorry bird cherry here though it i’m a little late now comes my about this – i should tribute even though have thanked you you stand there alone long ago for with your naked your screening branches bristling towards greenness right in the meerschaum of the moon the summer solstice and look more like for the ivory of your a tree painted clusters down over by mondrian in his the shadows – but you youth – thank you know how it is: for existing thank you time takes a cigarette for your chromium oxide

OSPSPGPAP

i recall that a sycamore stood at tintern abbey i have wordsworth’s poem for that and you have mine for the one that stands here by the east terrace full of november’s lapis lazuli and for ‘the one’ that’s here on the paper

OS S G A S P P P P OSPSPGPAPG

dear thuja in mid-november your name never i see it when a smells sweet nor is flight of starlings violet green as you yourself with titanium zinc are from burials alights on the cherry nor is this tree – i see for ode to you the first time that this because every poem tree is more beautiful than at its very centre japan more beautiful than is sufficient to itself my mother when young and its own thuja more beautiful than its own whose roots are planted spring – this insight deep in silence took me forty-nine years

240 OS S G F F OSPSPGPFPA P P P P

it’s a longer it’s a longer way that you think way than between from hvedevej two lovers to ‘hvedevej’ and on their separate sides back to hvedevej of the soul’s divide once more the november even though both darkness lays a wave their separate rose violet cloak over the red or white rosebushes – a longer it’s longer road than on paper than the sequence of no matter how easy numbers in both directions it looks – a longer way a longer way than than to the heart through silicon

OSPSPGPFP

the way goes via quotations of poems you as yet have not written via fragments and snatches of poems you have long since destroyed the way goes from silence to speechlessness around the rosebushes of the inexpressible where stillness grows

OSPSPGPFPF OSPSPGPFPG

it’s a longer it’s a longer way than between way than you think your dream and from hvedevej to your beloved ‘hvedevej’ and back it’s a longer way to hvedevej than the autumn once more – it’s just as leaves drift long a way as to god (and who knows where as the way statues they end?) move when not being a longer way than observed – it is the between magenta longest way you can and bitumen a longer go it is the poem’s way than to death way to itself

241 OS G A A F OSPGPAPAPA P P P P

this evening we are then i sit down alone my love at the writing desk in a pot to immortalise of salt – between this moment with a us lie the poem that begins black olives (that like this ‘ this evening have grown on the we are alone my love tree of the dream) in a pot of salt’ full of reality but the poem i pour out the wine cannot quote itself from a perfectly normal in its entirety carton and say: cannot contain cheers my love itself completely

OSPGPAPAP

when i have realised this infinite loop in the poem i decide to celebrate reality with music instead – i place another tape in the recorder – why does a green flag flutter above coleman’s jazz? – does it have anything to do with the dream?

OSPGPAPAPS OSPGPAPAPG

dancing in your now the tape runs out head – variation one: in a last if i am dancing inaudible alto sax in my head and i kiss you you are dancing in yours and finally read beloved – in whose head this poem in five are we then together? verses (which i have variation two: managed to write even if you are dancing so) out loud for in my head you – but that is also and i am dancing in yours a lie since it has beloved in whose head not been finished are we then together? until right now

242 OS G A F F OSPGPAPFPA P P P P

my mouth my i go out and stand lips my smile in front of the mirror let’s see now goodness gracious i must try to one damned well can’t go get a proper about looking like that smile a cheer up now winning smile how was it one that does not scare was supposed my fellow humans to start? – separate off a smile that the lips quickly can be recommended by while making the eyes the institute of human large and open – good biology in west berlin grief it’s difficult

OSPGPAPFP

then what? the mouth is to be opened to medium extent so the smile becomes alive make sure not to snarl hold this position of the lips for about seven seconds blink with the one eye – no as you were – blink with both eyes

OSPGPAPFPS OSPGPAPFPG

now just a god – you gave me quick glance my mouth my sideways and back lips and my smile again at the signal precisely so that receiver (in this i would not case myself) need to learn and the smile has been the dynamics of smiling perfectly executed so that i would not in all phases precisely need to make faces according to the manual for hours on end and voila: i’m in order to please others the spitting image of you gave me boris karloff my natural smile

243 the great fugue OSpGpApSpF OSpGpApSpA

we followed fjord what were we doing bakken down to here behind the silver the small blind alley in the perfect kingdom with the woodpile of the sea buckthorn? on the left i thought of saying the sky had a to you: this colour as if sea buckthorn resembles ivory-black had your soul my love been rubbed into it wildly beautiful and and then dried unconquerable – but i stayed again with a damp silent a long time and then cloth (titian’s asked (instead of what old trick) i ought to have said):

OSpGpApSP

yesterday i wrote the following sentences in another poem: ‘a – the unwritable is the unwritable b – the unwritable is not the writable c – either the unwritable or the writable no third possibility is given’ – can you now see my strange problems?

OS G A S S p p p p OSpGpApSpG

i mean: the that is poetry’s unwritable is not included third the indescribable you answered nor is it even though you probably the unwritten ought to have said and certainly not the something else such ‘unwritable’ but as: your kisses precisely the taste like the sea unwritable which i buckthorn’s berries fresh have now incorporated in feisty and irresistible – the writable but you didn’t do and thereby disproved that perhaps because a b and c – haven’t i? we were at cross-purposes

244 OS G A G A p p p p the great fugue OSpGpApGpF

i ought to be how on earth old enough to know could i have that i ought the very selfsame to have looked deep heart to into your eyes and ask a question have continued as follows: like this: does i love you so much the unwritable belong to it hurts deep down the class of classes in my heart – but that cannot contain i hardened my heart itself as a and asked: what has member? – when you sea buckthorn to do were standing there in flesh with the great fugue? and blood as my sole answer?

OSpGpApGP

since beethoven probably never saw a sea buckthorn in his life your comparison might seem strange – but i can well understand it the same entangled and prickly nature the orange light – you replied – but sea buckthorn can scarcely grow in vienna or bonn

OS G A G S p p p p OSpGpApGpG

as far as your this walk did though second question is concerned have a happy ending the answer even so has to be an unconditional we actually found a way yes – since you have out of the sea buckthorn’s just written down the wild labyrinth unwritable we did not ask in a poem – any more questions was your second answer we simply took each why dammit did you not other by the hand break the circle of and walked slowly frozen emeralds back along the around my mind? other paths of silence

245 the great fugue OS G F A F OSpGpFpApA p p p p

i might just as now follows the well admit second version or from the outset the on location version that the two previous which naturally poem sequences are is far simpler not true but but by the way rather the first is interesting in that version of a pack it shows a poem can also of lies – good grief be the cause of no dialogue would an event in sound like that in reality even though reality but the opposite is only in a poem normally true

OSpGpFpAP

inspired by the poems referred to we decided to go down to the small blind alley with the woodpile on the left and now let’s be honest about this: we did not walk down we drove in a silver grey fiat uno cross my heart

OS G F A G OSpGpFpApS p p p p

and the sky really and i did actually did look like a sky ask you: in a titian painting: what has sea buckthorn charles the fifth to do with the great at the battle of fugue? – and you did not mühlberg – black answer as in the first and pink version but as here smouldering through in the second one: it the cracked varnish is the repetition – like a soul and see that was a that can no longer far better answer be contained in than i could its own body have invented

246 OSpGpFpFpA the great fugue OSpGpFpFpF

i now knew well i could remedy that the quality this situation of a poem does not i could repeat have anything to do with the poem in reverse so its truth value – i knew that to speak follow well but it its instructions irritated me carefully carry them out in even so that the reality and first version did not thus verify agree with reality the poem backwards i but hung floating could use the poem as free in the imagination a kind of script for the real action

OSpGpFpFP

the fact that the first version was undated and written in the past tense made my venture simpler – the opposite causal relation would not be so disruptive as if the poem had been written in the present tense because the momentary had been missed

OSpGpFpFpS OSpGpFpFpG

there were now two we then put the plan main conditions into action carefully that had to be following the first fulfilled for version point for my plan to be able point word for word to succeed – you my love (read here the first would have to learn version) everything your lines from fitted every word the first version was true now even and i would have though you gentle reader to hope that the sky when it comes to it only have would really look like these very same words a sky painted by titian for that truth

247 OSpGpFpSpA OSpGpFpSpF

you’ve got a no just look – he bald spot here says continues positioning the hairdresser – it’s a the hand mirror natural parting i reply so that i calmly thinking can observe the quietly to myself that unmistakable signs it’s because he’s as of an incipient bald as a coot that he’s bald patch – ah yes hunting for at last one’s on the point bald spots of becoming in other people’s hair an adult – i say and pure psychology give him a strained smile i reassure myself in the mirror

OSpGpFpSP

he doesn’t accept that one – i can easily cover the spot by not cutting as close as i usually do – do that – i answer with hard-won composure continuing to read the illustrated magazine where all the men apparently have sheer primeval forests of hair on their heads

OSpGpFpSpS OSpGpFpSpG

dear god and there are problems my hair my with my beard as pride my well i daren’t cockscomb my let it grow any longer punic crest than two days about to be moth-eaten because otherwise one i already see myself can see that it is in my mind’s eye with starting to turn white a toupé or with a should i quite skullcap à la kingo slowly change my father had to the hemmingway hair slicked over a bald patch style should i before he was thirty i recall give in to age?

248 OS G F G F OSpGpFpGpA p p p p

i do not know it is simple what opinion a go out into the garden marigold has there is stands on do you? – the the edge of the marigold consequently unwritable so has no opinion close to the poem it is you who have that you almost seem an opinion of it to be able to touch it this opinion is formed with its as a relationship outermost word between you and say: marigold the marigold a realise its magnificence love relationship there’s nothing else

OSpGpFpGP

do not pick the marigold – its copernicus gold will blacken before your eyes and its halo fall to pieces do not use it in a secret ikebana in order to dismiss its reality out there in reality

OSpGpFpGpS OSpGpFpGpG

pick the poem’s do not pick marigold if the marigold – i you cannot beg you – do not resist it if you bring it into absolutely have to art’s herbarium cultivate beauty’s where there are nature morte ‘flowers’ enough use the poem’s ‘marigolds’ enough marigold in your that will ‘flower’ floral decoration all year round in if you absolutely your poems or have to cultivate for ever if eternity’s still life you command it

249 OSpGpSpApA OSpGpSpApF

to the seventh look up for yourself day there belongs a in night’s great seventh night incunabulum and see deeper than sleep orion on just as full of the frontispiece printed miracles for them in white that dare believe it letters on black as for the see the altarpiece lovers behind of winter standing dream’s malachite there on the in their star chambers reverse of your to which death soul like a does not have access gleaming ex libris

OSpGpSpAP

or lift the parchment over the first plate and consider the raindrops running down the pane in the lamplight while you attempt with a finger to follow their traces the night before your forty-ninth birthday

OSpGpSpApS OSpGpSpApG

you can also the last page leaf forward to is black as page forty-nine night itself page by page let it represent year by year whatever it likes night by night or whatever you feel what does it say there yourself your on the right own pictures from side of darkness? ‘the nightwood’ it does not say interpret them anything else than as you like or what it says let them sym here in this verse bolise themselves

250 OS G S S A p p p p OSpGpSpSpF

the moon stands in the moon stands white its first quarter this st. andrew’s eve top left where what is to be in the poem as shows itself you see on this between two st. andrew’s eve lights that i now the moon stands white light in the poem’s like the thorn mirror the moon stands on a rose white unfathomably that is lit manifested by the moon itself within the poem’s between two frames of shadows of words secret silver

OSpGpSpSP

who is my to-be who is coming towards me from within the mirror’s mercury that crackles like sirius you are my love yet again as if we were to marry again and afresh

OS G S S S p p p p OSpGpSpSpG

mirror mirror in and the one who does the poem who is not believe in the invisible the fairest in i ask: the world there? what is it then your beloved is you see in the poem here? the mirror what is it then answers (in which you do not see in the poem’s you read and see) venetian mirror? therefore she is tell me that now before also the fairest you answer or at least here where she and think about it you now meet in the first while the moon stands invisible gleam of the moon white in its first quarter

251 OSpGpSpGpA OSpGpSpGpF

piff paff puff the hoar frost has the snowberries strike bent the marguerites the poem like dipped them in glazed sweets – more a smoke of quartz precisely they roll in the roses are steaming over the thresholds of the poem with carbon dioxide from winter’s chests of the tagetes has drawers like mothballs also cringed without naphthalene of course they have early pearly lovely in this dry ice snowberry come winter has strewn inside my poem about you its first nickel won’t you please? over the perennials

OSpGpSpGP

and look – now the last leaf fell from the cherry tree down into my poem from one eternity to another gosh – how i hate winter’s barren hard prime numbers that’s probably exactly why i have written such good poems in its honour

OS G S G S p p p p OSpGpSpGpG

but there the early pearly winter jasmine stands the snowberries strike blaring with oxygen the poem like and brass – i award small percussion caps it: the i grandi full of winter’s dell jazz prize white saltpetre and why do i do that? gunpowder – piff paff puff because it reminds me can you hear of albert ayler’s them in there behind insanity and what can the silence be more insane between the than to flower words that in december’s crystal? i did not write?

252 OS G G A A p p p p for jan erik vold OSpGpGpApF

if you walk down since this lake lies langdyssevej outside the poem (and you ought to (like all lakes do that on such an in reality always do early december day of course) it is if for no other reason already something to look at the beets of a misinterpretation stacked like skulls to introduce the lake in a charnel house) here in the poem even though you will soon reach this poem only a small lake on the describes and refers to far side of the poem it is the lake as the the lake of the unwritable lake of the unwritable

OSpGpGpAP

it would be of no use to write: ‘i remove the writing i remove the body i remove the memory of the body – burn the words – a lake remained – it lay and mirrored itself in winter’ that would be a trick no matter how beautiful a one

OSpGpGpApS OSpGpGpApG

if you really this is due to remove the writing the fact that if you really you cannot write burn the words the unwritable then there is naturally but only the word no more to ‘the unwritable’ write no more even though i am to say – then well aware that this only the lake too is paradoxical would remain it is really due to in the heart of winter the fact that you which does not even cannot write mirror itself in the poem a poem without words

253 OSpGpGpFpA OSpGpGpFpF

if you subsequently you will realise go round that you can never this lake that write reality lies red with into or down into winter’s arsenic your language that you if you go round only write language it three times down – you will realise as in the fairytale that reality’s you will realise the poplars by this lake simple fact that the will burn off only thing that can be written their silver for ever is language – everything else outside the is unwritable radius of language

OSpGpGpFP

it is perhaps somewhat trite to draw attention to the fact that language can never become a poplar tree but it is apparently necessary time and time again to repeat these simple facts: language is in reality but reality is not in language

OS G G F G OSpGpGpFpS p p p p

it is important to now walk backwards make this clear three times round in order to get the same lake to what i really want that is cast in to say: that the brass of winter the poem is the you will then realise positive relationship that the poem defies between reality the insight just and language that as in the fairytale the poem links that the paradox of the poem reality and language lights up the world together into the by writing down whole which is the world the unwritable

254 OSpGpGpSpF OSpGpGpSpA

if you go with if you follow me me down to along langdyssevej this small lake down to this small of black salt and iodine lake you will probably be and mirror yourself able to dismiss language in it you will word for word as when not be able to write you empty a jewel box of this image its jewellery when the but perhaps be last word has been written able to describe and you stand its flaming on the bank of the glare of ivory unwritable you will not here in the poem’s icon be able to write it

OSpGpGpSP

because language can not negate itself absolutely but only writes the unwritable in itself only writes this by itself which is the same as saying that you have only written the word ‘the unwritable’

OSpGpGpSpS OSpGpGpSpG

this could even so therefore you must been given a blind eye if follow me down language was able to to this small lake confirm itself inside absolutely but winter’s solstice no system can you must follow me contain its own writing poetry explanation – language because only the poem cannot explain can build a bridge itself as language across this abyss you have to look for between what can this explanation outside be written and what language in the unwritable cannot be written

255 OS G G G F OSPGPGPGPA P P P P

i saw seven cormorants i saw – no i sitting on seven thought i saw a fishing stakes horse the in a magic colour of asphalt circle of light whose grazing out on the horizon origin i did not know was it the horse of here in the mid-december illusion or maybe twilight – i saw precisely the incarnation skanseskoven wood of reality glittering with tin-foil that was now galloping i saw seven cormorants around why was the language in ever- last stake empty? decreasing circles?

OSPGPGPGP

i saw the blackberries blackly gleaming in their crown of thorns i saw the wild apple tree standing naked with innocence i saw – no i thought i saw someone kneeling in winter's bitter saltpetre or was it just a visual disturbance because my eyes were watering?

OSPGPGPGPS OSPGPGPGPG

i saw the sea i saw the sky bare its sword blade sprinkled with crystal time and time again i saw my own and i did not say: footsteps on there lies the sea the way back stand and so what? like seals in the i said nothing ochre of the field path i waited for i saw the first the sea to lights be turned on swamp my in distant houses i saw poem and fill the last birds its holes with flying westwards lightning and salt i saw that which exists

256 OG A A A F OGPAPAPAPA P P P P

all of this i saw now that the question and more had been asked i i saw the seven set about things miracles in that which cautiously - if i exists and i could assume asked myself that even the how can i write unwritable that this into my poem even reality as anything else than was a system description and language then it too could how can not explain i write down itself or contain the unwritable? its own explanation

OGPAPAPAP

then reality or the unwritable would also have to seek its explanation outside itself in the unreal or in language if that was the case i had ended up in the strange circle that only language could ex plain reality and only reality language

OG A A A S P P P P OGPAPAPAPG

could the solution in such a way that or rather the poem became precisely the resolution the bridge between be found in the squaring reality and language of poetry and take there where reality place in the paradox of found language and the poem where language found reality the writable would then there where they found make itself unwritable each other and slaked and the unwritable each other longing would make itself in such a way that writable in a the poem became mutual passion? the voice of stillness?

257 OG A A S A P P P P OGPAPAPSPF

i saw the first i saw – no i flurries of snow sweeping thought i saw out from the northwest a green lantern like scattered out there on cavalry attacks the edge of language i saw the stars what ship shaken out like dice was bound where? on the cloth of the sky what shipwreck i saw the tattered was imminent or clouds disappear to what rescue? the south like lemmings there was that fling themselves so much i into the sea could not answer

OGPAPAPSP

i saw my love lift her hand and point to an unknown bird that hovered high above the poem and that movement too delighted me it was so commonly so completely unusual – i looked into reality’s raw diamond where it was now also beginning to snow

OG A A S G OGPAPAPSPS P P P P

i saw – no i i saw seven cormorants believed i saw all take to the air together no – i saw because i threw my own hand a stone out into pick up reality a strange stone i saw seven cormorants i saw my hand fly out of get ready to throw the poem for ever i saw it throw the i saw skanseskoven wood stone out among glitter with tin-foil the sea’s emeralds i saw the eight all this i saw empty fishing stakes i saw that which exists left behind in the sea

258 OGPAPAPGPA OGPAPAPGPF

there would be i knew that it frost again i could would be a see from the northern sky long and difficult which was burning path – just as long like a stained-glass window and difficult as i decided to go along røsnæsvejen to go to meet on foot as i the cold which would was now doing perhaps be just as under night’s severe as when brushstrokes of i was born prussian blue but i decided i also knew that to go to meet winter it was the right path

OGPAPAPGP

it was such a delight to me to think that reality was waiting for the poem to bring it to order for it was my belief that the stones and clay and trees were longing for the name- giving the explanation that they themselves were unable to contain

OGPAPAPGPS OGPAPAPGPG

it was such a it was such a delight to me to delight to me to think that surrender to this language was waiting passion (as to for the poem surrender to one’s to lead it out beyond woman in mid- its own borders menstruation) for it was my belief and to follow its that the words were longing tracks unconditionally for the substance beneath the speechless the explanation whirling of the stars out that they themselves towards winter’s heart were unable to contain of antimony

259 OGPAPFPAPA OGPAPFPAPF

i shaped my course i knew that for orion since the amount winter’s great of the written at altarpiece and i any given moment is finite knew that i and the amount of would open star the unwritten is infinite after star i would only word after word increase the amount of poem after poem the written every single as in a chinese time i put pen box without to paper without ever writing reducing the amount the ultimate word of the unwritten

OGPAPFPAP

in that way there would be billions of stars over røsnæs that were still to be written and billions of stars and shooting stars that would never be written and precisely that star i was looking for would in all probability remain in the unwritten

OG A F A G OGPAPFPAPS P P P P

because this and it was nevertheless star was that no longer word which lit up meaningless to the path and the poem have gambled everything explained the poem on one word even though and could therefore precisely the meaning not be contained and significance of that word in the poem itself would perhaps never because it was be revealed to me that word which nevertheless it was lit up and such a delight to me explained the world to deny this in its totality knowledge with my faith

260 OG A F F A P P P P OGPAPFPFPF

it was such a it was such a delight to me to say delight to me to ‘dog rose’ again say dog rose again without the word even though they now disappearing into it stood scorched by self in a spiral the frost as on of meaninglessness a tarot card without the letters because they only turning into were waiting for empty signs on this sunday night the white and when the salt from lifeless paper shore the sea once more of infinity gave the words power

OGPAPFPFP

it was such a delight to me to pick a rose-hip and open its small enchanted castle to spread out the itching powder and seeds among the words because rugosa the roses too were to flower in the poem in the years to come

OGPAPFPFPS OGPAPFPFPG

it was such a it was such a delight to me to delight to me that state what everyone night to walk along had probably known røsnæsvejen flanked all along by rugosa but that i still the roses’ lifeguard did not know as yet protected by because it could only life’s reddest word be believed: that it was such a the poem does not die delight to me that on the paper because night to contradict it contains death in the the living word very heart of winter

261 OGPAPFPSPA OGPAPFPSPF

now you must not you do not get high get the idea that the on the seventh day seventh day is you do not see any any different from the radiant angels other days – it is just at most those as full of trials and that hang with tribulations and trivialities cellophane wings just as full of in the window ledges grey hairs and cigarette around christmas ends with lipstick on them or the small school just as full girls that move like of tax arrears and lucia brides celeriac as all the others through the sundays

OGPAPFPSP

you do not even on the seventh day have your heart and kidneys tested like a chosen one – diseases occur with the same regularity as on other days neither more frequently nor violently – death robs you of your dear ones with the same punctuality as always

OG A F S S P P P P OGPAPFPSPG

the seventh day the seventh day is the day that is the day when links all the you realise that other days together creation itself is to form a whole the miracle that the day when you there are no other realise that there miracles to escape is no other into – the seventh existence day is this day of rest than this everyday and before you have realised naked and gleaming that you have not like a holy day been anywhere near full of holly the divine

262 OG A F G A P P P P OGPAPFPGPF

the seventh day the seventh day is the day is the day when you realise when you realise that this wholeness that this explanation that the world and only comes to your existence comprise you out of mercy cannot be explained via the living by or of itself word as sudden and not at all by flashes of light deep certain creations within the shrubbery that are of course of incomprehensibility part of this wholeness where winter of creation lights its berries

OGPAPFPGP

the seventh day is the day when you realise that there is no fairytale within the fairytale that the fairytale is your existence that the fairytale is the journey from where you have always been to where you are right now

OG A F G G OGPAPFPGPS P P P P

the seventh day the seventh day is the day is the day when you realise when you take a that this journey random path (let us is the longest one call it rullehøje) of your life that and are grateful it is longer than for each and every from you to ‘you’ step each and every and back again that stone each and every branch it stretches that glitters with rubies beyond yourself (like a samurai sword) into the word each and every you are unable to write second of your life

263 OG A S A F OGPAPSPAPA P P P P nose-tip and apple of the eye the chin’s fibreglass i have run spun round the head-on now into jawbone the chin so many sonnets bristly in the light that that verse-form protruding for is branded on a knock-out its skin like the chin without that four furrows cleft of charm the slog and inscrutability i have always of four stanzas wished for myself so large the ultimate that a marble sonnet to could be and on my skullbone buried and hidden there

OGPAPSPAP

not to forget the heraldic shield of the temple with lions and hearts or the tilting helmet of the nape of the neck reinforced with rivets of ivory and not to forget the somewhat battered but at present lifted visor of the eyebrows

OG A S A S P P P P OGPAPSPAPS

god – you gave god – you gave me my skin me my tongue precisely so that precisely so that i could prick myself i could taste this on the year’s last magnificent chateau rose here in the vase neuf du pape when i wanted to tapped directly from change its water your son’s veins you gave me you gave me my skin precisely so my tongue’s silver that i should precisely so that notice how soft i could my love’s skin is sing your praise

264 OGPAPSPGPA OGPAPSPGPF

perhaps i had been perhaps it was looking in the wrong enough to look places – perhaps in under the i had used words that brambles that were too big – perhaps gleamed so greenly with such words as winter right now wholeness and silence that words almost simply blasted the poem became superfluous to pieces like perhaps it was the pine-tree roots here enough just to that were slowly confirm these fallen blasting the slopes of nordskoven leaves spread out down towards the sea? among the spirit’s ashes?

OGPAPSPGP

perhaps i should simply encode the poem inwards using repetition’s endless formula of pine needles so i would finally end up in a pattern more beautiful than any fractal mathematics more beautiful than mandelbrod’s set more beautiful than the winter solstice itself?

OGPAPSPGPS OGPAPSPGPG

but even this perhaps i had structure would cause ended up in the dilemma the poem to that the poem on the split and even these one side of the words would pull brambles could the meaning into not contain the words a spiral of and that the words incomprehensibility on the other side of the words could the brambles also become so small could not contain that they could the poem – or had i neither contain read the compass of the poem nor the nordskoven completely wrong? december day’s white gold

265 OG A G A F OGPAPGPAPA P P P P

was the direction did i instead of inwards – inwards unearthing the into the poem’s infinite meaning into series of poems reality instead that pointed into wish to bury it itself – of in ever deeper layers poems that folded of clay and ochre or in on themselves perhaps finally bare like an origami of the word so it would the soul or like wither like the seed the leaves in a bud of the mugwort was it wrong – was that dies from the way inwards a blind alley? too much light?

OGPAPGPAP

the other way the way outwards i was familiar with the one that describes each poem by another poem in an infinite aura that finally runs into the unwritable on the hard rose-hip of reality fired to black ceramics in the athanor of the sun

OG A G A G OGPAPGPAPS P P P P

i stood in nord i believed that skoven’s labyrinth language had to seek of apocynaeceae and its own explanation dry rosebay and out in reality knew once more that and that reality the poem could not had to seek its own write the unwritable explanation in but i believed it side language and that the poem i believed that was the circle that the poem was precisely brought them together that bridge between around the centre the way inwards of silence here in and the way outwards november’s scorching light

266 OG A G F F OGPAPGPFPA P P P P

i knew that and i believed that the way inwards and once this decision the way outwards were had been taken the same even though all i needed to do they were not identical was to wait up here i knew that somewhere on the slopes of nordskoven or other along that was falling down this way i would have towards the to take the decision far side of the soul because there was no up here where end to the way mugwort flurried with ash that led from the heart the miracle would to its object happen of its own accord

OGPAPGPFP

and i believed that it had already happened because i had long since taken the decision and i knew – no i believed that i knew exactly where the impact had taken place in which poem on the way between what can be written and what cannot

OG A G F S P P P P OGPAPGPFPG

and i believed and never did i no i knew see nordskoven that i believed that so beautifully the key to this perforated by locked poem was cinnober and malachite not to be found elsewhere never did i see than within nordskoven gleam the poem itself more brightly than here inside the poem’s locked right in the heart ivory casket of the winter solstice even though i believed where light that i knew that this too was most beleaguered was impossible by its darkness

267 OG A G S F OGPAPGPSPA P P P P

and never did i see and never did i see the seagulls hover the great candelabras so perfectly of the pine trees in their isobars burn so high of tin never and pure with fly so effortlessly inner flames and precisely along never crackle the tangents of such with silver invisible circles with the fire as if they were that only god carrying secret letters in can light and that their beaks whose message only man i alone understood can extinguish

OGPAPGPSP

and never did i see tansy and rosebay and the grass perish with greater grace never did i see the herbs serve their maker with greater courage than now where they stood like russian crosses against the winter sky waiting for the final storm

OG A G S G OGPAPGPSPS P P P P

and never did i see and never did i see the sea gleam so the earth so beautiful clear with gold as the realm of the five senses now where it gathered so delightful as here the nimbus clouds from nordskoven’s tower in its mirror never so magnificent that did i see its deepest even a christ emeralds glitter would have to rise again so green as now three days after his death where it to enjoy had reconciled the sloe hedgerows and the itself with its burning dogrose deepest darkness yet one more time

268 OG A G G F OGPAPGPGPA P P P P

what else is the cranium’s death the inner man in head with the this sense radius bones (as far as the body beneath it as is concerned) in an x-ray photo than my faithful must really squire of bone resemble and marrow enclosed the insignia on within the flesh a pirate flag my own skeleton that now at this rides out beneath moment where i his gleaming scythe and cross my lower arms banner’s white rose across my chest

OGPAPGPGP

my faithful follower in armour and plating that watches over the heart’s three leopards with the harness of rib-bones my faithful squire that travels with me through the world as in dürer’s engraving: ritter tod und teufel

OG A G G S P P P P OGPAPGPGPG

my faithful brother what else is the my innermost inner man in image that carries this sense me through (as far as the body life that follows is concerned) me to the edge of than this ivory rake the grave – that clad in flesh and blood’s seven really goes purple roses – my own into death for me death that follows me there finally to the world’s end literally where as i can symbolically our ways part see it on grateful in disjecta membra dead’s seal and logo?

269 OGPFPAPSPA OGPFPAPSPF

i had planned but now january is a poem for actually neither new year’s morning white nor a poem that was light blue this year to begin like this: it is dully i see quite well shining with zinc that i was wrong and tinsel from january is not the opposite neighbour’s white ‘it is discarded christmas tree – light blue’ – because that january is not tall and was the first thing you full of light said the first of january as in a hymn by last year my love grundtvig this year

OGPFPAPSP

i could have carried out my plan i could have lied – for since everything written is in one way or other a lie anyway in relation to reality couldn’t it then be of no consequence whether january is light blue or grey in my poem this year?

OG F A S S P P P P OGPFPAPSPG

nor would anyone even so i know notice the tiny that the poem loses difference in strength and power not even you if somewhere or other my love and in the corners apart from that for example or a poem doesn’t have along the seams to transcribe and depict it is not attached reality – so to to reality speak create a therefore i change false illusion my plan and write a poem has to create ‘january is grey as its own innermost january asbestos this new year’

270 OGPFPAPGPA OGPFPAPGPF

that was at furthermore that any rate now the actual code and clear to me as i walked structure of the poem through the pinewood collection heptameron where the ivy crept precisely reflected over røsnæs’ this bird skulls that double spiral what i had called that twisted around the inner journey its invisible axis outwards and the like the two outward journey inwards serpents round respectively were the the original same path through life aesculapius’s staff

OGPFPAPGP

craw – screeched the crow from the tallest tree and that of course was not so strange even though i thought it was a raven craw – screeched the crow from the tallest tree because it wanted to tell me that it was not a raven but a perfectly ordinary carrion crow

OG F A G G OGPFPAPGPS P P P P

furthermore that the that was at poem collection heptameron any rate now was a deciphering clear to me as i walked of this code through the pinewood of life’s double where the rain lit secret its torches that or at least everything in nature told of the double its own secret mystery that it that everything in nature mirrored that hep carried a tameron so to speak message a code told the story that it could not of its own structure understand itself

271 OGPFPFPAPA OGPFPFPAPF

mental exercise devise a quite number nine simple code for place a maxell XLII the danish language tape in your pioneer for example that cassette tape recorder a means b that press the recording button b means c etc and record the instructions forward the key for how the cassette recorder to this code is to be used – give converted into the self your wife the recorder as same code language a present and say that the to your wife in a instructions for use are on light blue envelope with the accompanying tape a heart on it

OGPFPFPAP

construct a casket preferably of mother-of-pearl inlaid wood – place an old-fashioned lock on it to which there are two keys place the one key in the casket – lock with the other and hide it – now hand over this locked casket to your wife as a morning gift

OGPFPFPAPS OGPFPFPAPG

now your wife is she’s well aware of course not stupid that your clumsy she’s well aware demonstrations are you are pulling only sham solutions her leg – she’s she’s well aware that well aware that you even though the code ‘contains’ are trying to explain its own something to her she key she will has realised herself only be able to grasp long since: this ‘inner that a system a code key’ if she cannot contain its had grasped own ultimate key the ‘outer key’

272 OGPFPFPFPA from: the book of myths OGPFPFPFPF

dear reader imagine that i must now resort to a mighty lord the form of the fairytale (we could of course or the allegory if call the person concerned you like to god) gave the get you to see first human beings more than understand (let us call them what it is i adam and eve) am trying to say to you language as a gift or when all is and precisely because they said and done (where had now received belief applies) language they to believe it understood what he said

OGPFPFPFP

this gift god said i give you so that you can speak together but at the same time it is a code for another language that you do not understand though in order to demonstrate my good-will i have also laid the key to the code within your own language

OGPFPFPFPS OGPFPFPFPG

this i have done for your own good god continued i have let belief be so that mankind will crucial and not your not get too big knowledge – so you’ve got for its boots to take me at my word again – for you will and if you are persevering soon realise that enough in your even though a code faith i will also can contain its at some point in eternity own key you show you that you cannot find it have the whole time without my help possessed the inner key – without the outer key the living word

273 OG F F S A from: the book of myths P P P P OGPFPFPSPF

likewise god gave namely the one the first human beings that i have locked a very beautiful inside the casket casket decorated with the aid of with sun and moon the other – i have and all kinds of stars thus given you while saying: all knowledge and the key in this casket to it – but so lies all knowledge of that you do not the universe and it get too cocksure you have got can only be opened to believe this and can with the aid of only gain certainty with two identical keys the aid of my key

OGPFPFPSP

and if you are persevering in your faith i will also at some point in eternity show you that you have all the time possessed all knowledge and the key to it that you have all the time possessed the inner key that exactly corresponds to the outer key

OGPFPFPSPS OGPFPFPSPG

and when god had dear reader said these words the fairytale is over he left the two and when it comes first human beings to it (and it does to each other and of course in this world allowed time to run where no healing is its course and the world given) a fairytale its also – and all this also has to be believed god did for mankind’s although in a different own good so that way – so if you wish mankind should learn to believe this fairytale that faith is everything and or not is knowledge nothing up to you

274 OGPFPFPGPA OGPFPFPGPF

that was at furthermore that any rate now my earlier strong clear to me as i walked and often repeated through the pinewood dictum that where winter’s a system cannot last berries gleamed contain its own inwards like explanation had to virgin mary lamps that be made more rigorous: what i had called that a system the inner key cannot contain and the outer key the ultimate respectively were the understanding of same key of life its own explanation

OGPFPFPGP

craw – screeched the crow from the tallest tree and that of course was not so strange since it was a crow and not a raven – craw – screeched the crow from the tallest tree because it wanted to reassure itself that it was not a raven but a perfectly ordinary carrion crow

OGPFPFPGPS OGPFPFPGPG

furthermore that that was at if the system any rate now was extended to clear to me as i walked the world as a whole along the paths of the pinewood or the universe into january’s web this could probably that the unwritable contain its own that the living word explanation but was written into not the understanding the poem but also of this insight just as clear that because of necessity it i would never be was linked to an capable of telling understanding outside (where?) you exactly where

275 OGPFPSPFPA OGPFPSPFPF

ode to my brain ode to my brain or to what which in principle is left of it could contain all of its orange and information turquoise that which about me my brain life and pain in whose archives did not erase this poem or banish to the must also exist seahorses’ deep valley or existed long ode to my brain’s before it was written white chamber where my brain that can the image of god must not contain the final also exist image of itself

OGPFPSPFP

ode to my brain which could map everything about itself – but cannot contain this map my brain which in principle could understand the whole world indeed the whole universe but could not understand itself and its own code

OGPFPSPFPS OGPFPSPFPG

where then is it can only be this final the brain itself violet map where but that it cannot then is this be – it can final image of only be the brain the brain itself that itself that thinks it cannot the unthinkable contain – who is but that it cannot it that sees it do – where then does who is this strange meeting it that take place between thinks this thought and that which final paradox? it cannot contain?

276 OGPFPSPGPA OGPFPSPGPF and then it was february whereas the change of month aluminium and gives me who takes ultramarine in time into consideration large chequered squares cause for like a composition various speculations by poul gernes and that is precisely great titmice and the problem that chaffinches fly time cannot contain effortlessly over the its own explanation invisible boundary because time has from january’s darkness long since passed and become have no problems past when its with the irreversible explanation is available

OGPFPSPGP

the course of time only aggravates the paradox that affects me: that i cannot write poetry and live at the same time because the poem always in some way or other is an attempt to explain the life i am living while i sit writing it

OGPFPSPGPS OGPFPSPGPG

the paradox that it was that which life and art i was to realise that can never be united which i was to believe: that the poem always that i would not be able comes too late to find the word because in relation to life i had already the paradox that found it – that i the poem even so was unable to write crosses this the word because i threshold this had already written invisible threshold it – because it was by virtue of already there hidden the living word in my poem

277 OG F G A A P P P P OGPFPGPAPF

i go over to the i begin to realise outhouse and consider that i will the winter apples – they have never find no problems myself with their self- because i have understanding – they have always been myself no crisis of and as such there is identity – they repose nothing to look for solidly in themselves since every close around their single second of own necessity my life i have the dark churches of all the time their own small cores been myself

OGPFPGPAP

i begin to realise that the whole time i have been wearing the glasses i have been looking for and that the only self- understanding that is given is this insight that there is not any explanation since no one can grasp his own explanation

OG F G A S P P P P OGPFPGPAPG

i begin to realise it is only me that naturally i only man contain myself the that seeks whole time – i.e.: am himself – looks at himself fully myself in the mirror at every instant each and every day – searches (who else should in the innermost fusty i be?) but that outhouses of the soul it will at the same time where the winter apples rot be impossible for me it is only man ever to comprehend that seeks for to be satisfied with this what he simple fact already possesses

278 OGPFPGPFPA OGPFPGPFPF

just suppose – (let us let us assume extemporise a bit more that (for we on the fairytale) can of course not know just suppose the since we lack inner key that the verification of god had given the outer key) man was but let us quite simply like this: assume that things that the code could were arranged thus be broken by what then? – well then replacing a by a man would and b by b and c by find himself in a c et cetera bizarre situation

OGPFPGPFP

not only would man in that case possess the explanation (i.a. of himself) but would also possess the possibility of being able to understand this explanation that which was lacking would be the con firmation that only eternity could provide

OGPFPGPFPS OGPFPGPFPG

so when man while all that continued to seek was needed was a to understand himself belief that the self- he was either trying evident really to understand was the self-evident something he already (this could only be had understood confirmed by the or he would outer key of eternity) not understand something man would get he had entangled in the strange already understood problem that he would he would reject the understand something he had self-evident for the obscure already understood

279 OGPFPGPSPA OGPFPGPSPF

now that was a and that explanation strange fairytale would be simple – it i have told here was that god is but not nearly as man’s final explanation strange as man’s that man dodging around and contained this explanation constant attempts to that man explain himself contained god and understand himself in his innermost self when this explanation that man and this understanding thus contained are perhaps a simple abc the explanation of himself for utter beginners in his innermost self

OGPFPGPSP

it is this explanation you could well understand because god had given you the key to its understanding: that a equals a that b equals b et cetera while all you had to do was to believe that the self-evident is the self-evident

OGPFPGPSPS OGPFPGPSPG

while all you while all you had to do was had to do was simply believe that god simply believe the was not cheating paradox that god that god was not really had given teasing man man both the that the code really explanation and was as simple as: the understanding a equals a and not of the paradox b equals b itself – but of its so that you reality here and now really could understand while all you had to do the living word was simply to believe it

280 OGPFPGPGPA OGPFPGPGPF

but then it really then it was only was god’s great book us who misused we were reading in the word it was it really was god’s poem only us who misused we were roaming around in the world it was creation itself was only us who really nature’s great did not want to understand book hawthorn was the word we already really hawthorn a had understood it really equalled a was only us who and b equalled b tried to draw a veil then all of it over what we was really true had already understood

OGPFPGPGP

but then god’s son really was the inner key then we really had long since been given the explanation and the understanding then nothing had really been swept under the carpet then god had really not deceived us then we had actually only deceived ourselves

OGPFPGPGPS OGPFPGPGPG

then everything had then there was really really been said then it no reason to search had really been said any more no reason both as a parable to give yourself and as the direct word an explanation then there really were then there was no no excuses left reason to ask for not wanting to every single day: understand it – then it who the hell really had been said in such am i – where do i a way that a child could actually come from? understand it then we really you have long since both had been given the explanation received and understood the answer

281 OGPSPAPGPA OGPSPAPGPF

shrove tuesday is silence – yes really white this year and what about that? even though no i must now set about snow has fallen demystifying it white as a much too it is after all only early valentine this field in the middle through whose perforations of the poem cleared eranthis comes up of unnecessary white along the metaphors and edges like tissue paper excessive symbols because of where the poem’s own the sunlight and words can freely the origami of silence unfurl and flower

OGPSPAPGP

silence is the noisefree zone innermost in language where the poem’s own words can be heard – not because these words look different or sound different they have not changed meaning or significance they on the contrary mean even more or first now what they actually say

OGPSPAPGPS OGPSPAPGPG

silence is the poem’s in silence the words necessary sounding come to their own board against which hearing cleansed the words perhaps sound of language noise and mis at a different pitch use – in silence the said or in a different is muted and key – but otherwise the unsaid is amplified do not sound differently in precisely the than before – do not form same words as before some new melody in silence in themselves the said and the they can simply be heard unsaid become one that’s all the poem makes itself heard

282 “reason errs OG S F F F OGPSPFPFPA P P P P the heart does not” ode to my heart’s in the first chamber three leopards you are sitting and the nine small my love hearts within on a rococo chair each of which contains and i know that you twenty-five precious stones have got no panties as a protection against on under your dress wear – my and it is you who heart’s plume make my heart my heart’s waving give an extra beat grass my heart and i see that you that aflame are wearing my heart rolls eastwards of gold round your neck

OGPSPFPFP

in the second chamber god’s son is hanging in various apostolic positions against a background of prussian blue whirled round by various painters’ cloud formations and flags and i know full well that was not how it was (o mein jesulein o mein immanuel) that these are merely reproductions

OG S F F G OGPSPFPFPS P P P P

in the third chamber the fourth chamber there stands an i do not know urn full to maybe it is full the brim with talcum of brilliant light and fortunately i find from four silver cande it as yet difficult labras or maybe to imagine it is the heart inside full of nothing the urn one as in the most ancient fine day that legends – i itself stands so gleamingly have no idea and shiningly black i have never within the heart been inside there

283 OGPSPFPSPA OGPSPFPSPF

double ode then i leap to my heart out of bed with in a somewhat more renewed vigour realistic manner while a flight of starlings because i am lying shoots straight listening to it through it a-li-ve as yet that is how it feels a-li-ve a-li-ve at any rate the old heart i must get that heart beats oh let it beat of mine under control oh let it never i must get ever come it tempered and bathed to a complete standstill in chrome vanadium

OGPSPFPSP

but not right now – it will have to wait (until tomorrow for example) right now after break fast the heart is to be allowed to beat at its own pace – right now the heart is to swing to the beat of stan getz’s most belgian quartet

OG S F S S P P P P OGPSPFPSPG

what else can i but i know of course treat you to in full well what it the way of really wants delicacies – heart? it wants to beat a glass of apple juice wildly and furiously or a bike it wants to smell of trip to ågerup magnesium it would so you can be rather be blown up oxidised and young by a heart attack again and in your arms more light-green my love than that in a poem just sluggishly by morten nielsen keep me alive

284 OGPSPSPAPA OGPSPSPAPF

i cut across to the i take an inquisitive neighbour’s house opposite look into the deserted that is empty now rooms – a small his forbidden garden plastic rose on the window with quince and ledge an empty ivy i confirm beer bottle and an sour pine trees upturned clog and eranthis on the and there giddying edge of on the wall a left- understanding moss-covered behind painting of paths i never had a farm that imagined in probably does not my inner atlas exist any more

OGPSPSPAP

the neighbour’s house which i have never been able to map completely not even from the outside because i have never been inside it which i will never be able to map even if i stood inside it now it has at any rate become too late ever to do so

OG S S A G OGPSPSPAPS P P P P

the neighbour’s house and the tragic thing is my conceptual that there models – i is nothing to know that there is work out – the no ultimate comic thing that that solution to this is precisely what we problem – and have to work out why is there no it is thus the solution? – because there paradox shows itself is no problem to us or only a blind makes itself heard in paradox and paradoxes its clearest and most have no solutions obvious form

285 OG S S F A P P P P OGPSPSPFPF

god be praised god be praised the snowstorm managed to the snowstorm leaps make it – it is dancing from word to word in from the northwest like the notes from through my verse wayne shorter’s like a dervish saxophone – airs full of holy frenzy the poems lifting up the eternit tiles for a brief moment of the roof biting clearing them of all at the heart muggy humanism sweeping the superfluous that places man words in under at the centre that the poem’s red lead makes man into god

OGPSPSPFP

god be praised for march when the snowstorm takes the floor red with arsenic blows over the fence into the second quarter blows the poems free of the hysteria that everywhere says that man is right has the right to celebrate every single mistake time and time again

OG S S F S P P P P OGPSPSPFPG

god be praised god be praised for the snowstorm the snowstorm that burns with managed to blow into nickel and quartz heptameron managed that brakes to leave behind words officiousness more so hard and cold effectively than uranus that they burn solid that compels man onto iron and paper just for once the snowstorm swept to think of something like a swarm of white else than himself bees through glory be to the snowstorm’s heptameron and frenzied weathercock out into march

286 OGPSPSPSPA OGPSPSPSPF

that’s all it is that’s all it is it is nothing else it is nothing else than to look for like a deja-vu eagle road in bjørnstrup without time lag than to ask like a stretched-out a local: where expanded now does eagle road lie? like realising that than to get the answer: the glasses you you’re standing on eagle road have been looking for that’s how it is you have been wearing like the feeling all the time that you you have have all the time been at that moment where you wanted to go

OGPSPSPSP

just suppose the path you were looking for was called ‘the meaning of life’ then you could not ask anyone the way – because only you yourself have local knowledge of yourself so you could not ask anyone else’s advice because only you yourself know your own inner paths

OG S S S S P P P P OGPSPSPSPG

so you would have that’s all it is to ask yourself it is nothing else because you are than an insight into the one and only local: this moment that you where does ‘the meaning cannot understand but of life’ lie?’ – and only can believe because you then you could cannot contain your answer as above: own explanation – it is you’re standing on nothing else than an in ‘the meaning of life’ sight into that moment or more straightforwardly: when the world you’re standing right is itself and in the meaning of life nothing else

287 OGPSPGPAPF OGPSPGPAPA

would it not that is what you be stupid are doing even so to start to isn’t it? look for eagle road you do not want when you’re standing on for god’s sake to be eagle road in early confronted with the fact march with gooseflesh on that what you are looking for your arms just as you had already stupid as to begin found before you to look for the meaning began to look for it of life when for then life would you are situated really lose its right in it? meaning – wouldn’t it?

OGPSPGPAP

so you walk over for example and read the road sign: eagle road it says there loud and clear yes – yes you say to yourself – that is of course only a word does ‘eagle road’ now correspond to the real eagle road how can i be sure that the meaning of life is to live

OGPSPGPAPS OGPSPGPAPG

some joker could there are no have switched dodges you the road signs wouldn’t attempt during the night in order to avoid so that eagle road the simple insight in actual fact is called that you are standing on hawk road – someone eagle road that you (you yourself) could are situated right have switched in the meaning of life the words so those dodges which that ‘the meaning of life’ in then in a strangely actual fact should be cackhanded way become read as ‘the life of meaning’ the meaning of your life

288 OGPSPGPFPA OGPSPGPFPF

the possibilities for or eagle road could evasions are legion be a notion you could say just as the world to yourself: eagle road is such (the counter is perhaps a dream argument: in actual fact the one who has i am lying at home in the notion cannot be in my bed in his own notion ulstrup vænge and so where is he? – he dreaming that i am is of course in standing on eagle road where the world that he the snow is falling over also imagines where the rugosa shrubs else should he be?)

OGPSPGPFP

or eagle road could be a halluci nation etc etc in short you do not want to be the place where you are when you have realised that fact you flee unceasingly from eagle road in order to find it again and again in order to legitimise your searching

OGPSPGPFPS OGPSPGPFPG

the last mentioned so there you stand way out is however right in the meaning not usable of life asking time when it comes to and time again: where does the meaning of life the meaning of life lie? because at every and no one else moment you are standing than yourself can in the meaning of life no answer that question matter where you are because no one else situated because the meaning than yourself is of life is precisely a local when it comes to the each and every moment roads and twisting paths in your life of your own life

289 OGPSPGPSPA OGPSPGPSPF

as far as i am or at other concerned i write moments i write poems from time to time poems about the meaning about eagle road which of life for example you see no matter but then that whether i am situated (unlike the above on eagle road mentioned) is precisely or not – that the meaning of now is my small my life: to way out my small write poems about breath pause my the meaning of life and small breathing space be aware that that is in the middle of life precisely what i am doing

OGPSPGPSP

that’s all it is it is nothing else than this presence around your moment this small attentiveness concerning who you are and what you are occupied with right now – this small exercise in being present where you are and not all sorts of other possible places

OGPSPGPSPS OGPSPGPSPG

this small delay and one fine day this small reflection you will not even this small consideration need to remind yourself is only necessary any more to as a transition remember to until your life think about where has become you are and what the meaning of life you are occupied with now until you have you will not need any more become one with to think about your now your reality then you are where you are then you can happily every single moment throw the ladder away then you are present

290 OG G A A F OGPGPAPAPA P P P P

mental exercise now close your eyes number ten and imagine consider the chair of how it looks your writing desk intently in every detail and say: there we have the semicircle of the back a writing desk chair the faded green it is not an velvet seat – the chair french empire chair or legs as if turned a deck chair or or carved out something as bizarre as of a fairytale a safari chair – it is say then to yourself: real or it is really a i am now imagining writing desk chair my writing desk chair

OGPGPAPAP

begin now to fantasise about your writing desk chair that for example it has wings that it flies off at night while you lie dreaming about it – that it has a deep voice etc say then to yourself: i am now fantasising about my writing desk chair

OG G A A S P P P P OGPGPAPAPG

after that draw it finally settle yourself as well as you can comfortably in on a piece of your writing desk chair typewriting paper and listen for a preferably with indian ink long time to its peevish but most of all with creaking and groaning watercolours – insert do not as far as is possible the word ‘writing desk chair’ say anything to your and add an arrow self but remain then write at the bottom of sitting for a while and then the drawing: i have repeat all of mental now depicted my exercise number ten writing desk chair point by point

291 OG G A F F OGPGPAPFPA P P P P

the blackbird sings you must sacrifice in the spring now beauty for beauty’s from a snow shower sake the black from its heart’s bird sings – it cherry stone sounds so beautiful from a medallion but is it anything else of tin – the blackbird than sounds – would sings in the spring you yourself sacrifice your now with a note song – i so piercingly violet rejoin – chuck that not even chuck – chuck stan getz has the blackbird replies played it before of course

OGPGPAPFP

just come girls sings the blackbird there is room enough and forage (an elderly gentleman lays out apples in my territory) there is room enough i have chased all the weaklings away and i am here myself in my finest capa des robes

OGPGPAPFPS OGPGPAPFPG

it is admittedly true the blackbird sings that i go round in the spring now placing apples at from its throat’s strategic points alburnum – it does one above the dewpoint not sing in ‘the and another under spring’ nor the square root of darkness the spring with whoeet – whoeet – whoeet allusions to the i say to the short summer nights and that blackbird and do kind of white gold not feel the least the blackbird sings foolish even though in the spring quite simply it is only sounds into the middle of being

292 OGPGPAPSPA OGPGPAPSPF

ode to my ode to my intestines that stomach that for the steam and are time being has kept doing well as at the within reasonable butcher’s packed in proportions and that membranes and i have seen the inside of semi-permeables at dr fahrenkrug’s and not as in the x-ray clinic supermarket’s frozen once in my youth food counter under when i thought i cellophane in sliced liver had incurred that i can take home a wound down there with me to the cat in the bagpipes

OGPGPAPSP

ode to my fluids and secretions lymph and semen the gall bladder’s daily litre of brake fluid light green and hydraulic ode to the rivers of blood where neptune lifts his trident ode to the water of which i mainly consist that one day will run out into the sea’s linked vessels

OGPGPAPSPG OGPGPAPSPS

ode to my ode to my lungs that i muscles tendons and have filled with nerves – concluding the smoke of two unscientific ode hundred thousand cigarettes to myself in and delphic vapours my totality as ode to the bronchi described here on and to my the anatomical charts of alveola’s forest floor the third book of the flesh of anemones my totality where only ode to the windpipe the ego lacks as and the wild precisely now rainbow head of the larynx praises the same totality

293 OG G S A F OGPGPSPAPA P P P P

i press a the wind too small button knows the timing inside my head in from the right order april and round the north sun there – yes please three precise birds as last year cross the heart a coat of arms from the screams’ stereo the t’ang dynasty from one ear with invisible writing to the other signs on – røsnæs then i know that lit up by i do not the programme fits know how many square then i know that kilometres of sunshine it is april again

OGPGPSPAP

i walk along a road that does not have any name yet but gets one en route when it is too late now tell me what the name of the road is and where it leads or do not say it – say it or do not say it it’s equally wrong

OG G S A S P P P P OGPGPSPAPG

that insight i am now i am walking along unable to hold that path again onto nor do i in mid-april do so – soon that stops where i will walk along a it ends and ends fictive path i myself where it starts have invented here it is a strange in the late verse path that everyone knows soon i will walk along of but no one will a real path admit – it goes from the where not even you heart to the heart in one can follow me out immortal now – it is of heptameron the path to god

294 OG G G G F OGPGPGPGPA P P P P

a small post it has been scriptum i have on purpose my love saved for you because firstly my love i do not rightly because perhaps you feel know what the spirit is i have not and secondly if it dealt sufficiently is what i think it is – with your spirit here in namely the totality the book of the spirit (in this instance as i have done your totality) otherwise with your then it is body and soul in their not me you should respective books apply to but god

OGPGPGPGP

in the end was the spirit the spirit was with god and the spirit was god all things were made by it and without it was not anything made that was made and the spirit became word and the word took its dwelling among us and we saw its glory

OGPGPGPGPS OGPGPGPGPG

your body i the path from man know – more or less to man and your soul i the path from self can make out through to self goes the corners of my eyes through god i.e. but your self your spirit goes through is invisible to me love and it is and is of course your not as banal as it own matter your sounds my love own account you can convince with god – therefore yourself of this in all humility i have by reading hepta kept my trap shut meron one more time

295 O

in the end was the spirit the spirit was with god and the spirit was god all things were made by it and without it was not anything made that was made and the spirit became word and the word took its dwelling among us and we saw its glory

296 The Book of Punishment and Reward

297 298 OFPF-X

Sexigesima Sunday. The sun in Aquarius. It gleams through the apostle, his leaded coat. Hymn 315. I sing my own version. The words about the sower. And I was not far from being impotent last night.

OFPS-X

I am considering going to the dentist. I deliberately write: considering; please note that. Lavines of amalgam in plus five presumably. Time and its bite. As white moonlight on the white cross.

OFPS-Y

My beard’s growing grey, I eat zinc. My hair’s growing grey, I eat vitamin B. By skin’s growing grey, I drink potato water. My life’s growing grey, I dream that my semen is thick with collagen and fragrantly green with herb shampoo.

299 OFPS-Z

I consider going to the optician. I would rather listen to a violin sonata. Then I light a fresh cigarette. I consider drinking orange juice. I would rather drink a porter. Then I make a cup of black coffee.

OSPF-X

First Sunday in Lent. Outside the snow of The Holy Spirit is still falling; but in this wise the words in me: Jeder Geist isset von seinem Leibe. Is my semen used up now. Or is it just old-man’s semen diluted with tonic water?

OSPS-X

The heptahedron of the mind. Hung up above a pinewood bed on a nylon thread. It reflects Islam’s blue roses, your absence and the abstinences of the body. I grasp my member by the hand, stop just before ejaculation. Save the sublimation of my semen.

300 OSPS-Y

You let me sit in the diamond. You let me sit in Monday’s terrible clarity of paraffin and angles. You let me sit in a rainbow of thoughts. You let me sit inside the hypophysis.

OSPS-Z

One fine day I’ll probably remain in there. One fine day your blow will miss. This happens to every diamond-cutter. One fine day your hand will tremble. One fine day you will simply pulverise my soul.

OGPF-X

I light three matches, open the tap and stick a spoon in my mouth. Or I put on my Lennon glasses. But it’s all equally useless. The two Hungarian onions from Irma cause the salt of punishment to rise in my eyes.

301 OGPS-X

Your hair is of ashes and honey, beloved. That’s a lie. Your hair is of flax and liver paste. That’s a lie. Your hair is of hair. That’s the truth. Your hair is a tautology, beloved.

OGPS-Y

Your groin is like a birch thicket in Karelia: paraffin of death and the burned tulips. Your lap is a tank battle at Ilmen lake so many years later, when I twist the silver ring of spring round my finger.

OGPS-Z

The small furrow of ivory you have over your nose: I will let my semen run in it may my life run there, run out. The little wrinkle of death that the moon has stretched in the skin’s velvet.

302 OFPFPA-X

You tell me a thousand and one things, beloved. Among other things that it is not an Abbasidian silver pitcher but a Tunisian brass pitcher; and that I am only to pour out green tea or Algerian wine in generous quantities, because your desire is real enough.

OFPFPA-Y

Silver pitcher or brass pitcher. It is of bronze, I note one day when rubbing your pitcher at first light. Everyone knows (you too) that the genii of the lamp will make its appearance after a thousand and one invocations.

OFPFPS-X

Third Sunday in Lent. Organ prelude by Buxtehude- I go to my third altar- kneeling this year. May I drink altar wine in a personal Ramadan? But this wine is not of wine.

303 OFPAPA-X

There you sit once more blackbird an early Monday morning gleaming with sterling silver lonely and severe like Bach’s D-minor partita. You must be as old as I am in your bird-world; and just as melancholy. I invite you to the black communion.

OFPAPA-Y

There you sit once more blackbird and eavesdrop. My balding blackbird from last winter. There you sit like a heraldic profile on your post, like an illustration from the Book of Micah smouldering with paraffin and soot. I throw the last apple out to you.

304 CELLO SUITES

OFPAPG-1 to 6

Make a note of Pablo Casals. He began playing the cello at the age of eleven. He was good; technically perfect. He studied under Jesus de Monasterio. He commanded his cello.

Only when he was twenty-five did he dare play Bach’s cello suites in public. With virtuosity and clarity like the handwriting of Anna Magdalena. He mastered his cello.

During the Spanish civil war he recorded the suites for His Master’s Voice. In black, white and violet. His soul was imprisoned in the cello’s body.

305 Now he tormented the cello in order to escape, to exceed the threshold of pain. He raped the cello. He played it like a crossbow. He had a pain in the cello.

Finally he brushed the cello aside. He played directly on the nerve strings, medulla spinalis. He had become one with his cello.

Pablo Casals spread out a fan of emeralds. Pablo Casals played with a black silk glove on. Pablo Casals no longer knew what a cello was. Make a note of Pablo Casals.

OFPAPS-X

I transform punishment into joy just for once. Open a harpsichord suite and play the allemande for you, even though you are absent. Bach’s nail box full of cogwheels and screws; and the final missing brass nail.

306 4 CHORALES

OFPSPG-1 to 4

the keenest desire hurts the most that you will one day find to your cost

without mercy (like a bach chorale) and fully consciously i cut on certain unev en holidays strips of your heart or out of sheer and unadulte rated love i chop it in to ragout so you can feel it is made of meat so you are able to feel your own love

we are not playing at love my beloved it’s deadly serious don’t listen to the rosy conversation of the psychologists and don’t look at their pedigree siamese cats ours are untamed ones every kiss is a question of life or death ev ery kiss transforms us

may your suffering crucify you to the heart torture you till the blood flows so your love’s seven white roses can blos som red with rapture

307 OFPSPF-X

Breakfast. Suddenly the apricot jam irritates me; its colour: simply insane the smell: daft the ingredients: stupid the dates, illustrations and declarations: utterly ridiculous price: completely idiotic. Do you understand now, my love why you have to come, how necessary you are?

OFPSPF-Y

At times your absence is taken out on my glasses for example. Or quite innocent keys, the lamps and the telephone; nor does the biro escape my irritability nor do table and chair. Aren’t you on your way, getting a move on; aren’t you coming dammit?

308 OFPSPS-X

Snow Queen i say on the days when you come from Jutland beautiful as enamel. Snow Queen i call you on the days when i believe you’re screwing every tom dick and harry; on the days when i play August Strindberg.

OFPGPA-X

Simnel Sunday. The moon’s altar silver over the spire of St. John’s Church. But my hunger is greater than any fast. Who is causing my pain? You are, my love. Therefore you yourself deserve the pain. For the same reason you will receive my love.

309 4 TOCCATAS

OSPAPF-X to AE

Once again I broke my mind against your absence. My gonads gathered in my left shoulder like peppercorns in a paté. To break the mind: a brilliant image of the intellect when i spread you (your light) in colours.

Thus I sat once more in the prism, in Bach’s sparkling diamond among the twelfth notes in the masculine gleam of pure spirit in order to think of you and your long legs.

I fled into the mind’s most virile region among angels and the rainbow of the final comparisons. Exclusively for your sake so that you should understand your own longing.

I transformed your feminine salt into the formulas in the brain’s snowstorm. Reduced you to white algebra. To a toccata of dizzying sapphire and purgatory in order to pore over heart and kidney. I really call you back in that fashion.

310 OAPAPA-X to Z

For a long time we discussed anatomy, its melancholy and dark recesses. Could rapture be located in the uterus or in the bluish binnacle of the ovaries; and pain perhaps in the black ka’ba of my own hypophysis? I owed you more than a reply.

Even stranger problems arose between us in the burning days around midsummer under the love-flower (sedium lepium) and its shade. Would the self be a necessary condition for my abandonment or rather the opposite? I owed you more than a question.

Towards the end of the dog days I found a new enigma in connection with our ecstasy. How could transition and perdition be the same, or the gleaming salt of punishment be the same as that of desire its opposite. I owed you more than a debt.

311 2 TOCCATAS

OAPAPS-X and Y

I suspected I was wrong but not how. There were three too many herons behind the mirror, and orange wasn’t the thing so late in the afternoon. There were signs in the sun as on a chasuble. Suddenly I knew that I had to play Bach.

Toccata in E minor sharp as Occam’s razor. More terrible than the punishment itself. Insurmountable as the final millemetre. Beautiful as a cut rose on its way to death. I knew I was close to the truth.

OSPFPF-X

Lady Day. The rain obliquely in from the right. I go to the children’s service with you, because you have promised me your child. The vicar looks like the pharisees. talks mumbo-jumbo there among the columns.

312 OAPSPF-X

Once again I have sinned with Lou Reed while you were fast asleep (your own inner labyrinth) i am listening in the dead of night to ‘Heroin’ from Rock’n roll Animal. I wonder what Johann Sebastian says to such a flashy courante?

OAPFPS-X

I am afraid of everything twixt heaven and earth. Vanadium for example, or the machete knife from Cuba on which is inscribed: corona acero diamante superior (like a secret threat). But most of all your love frightens me.

OAPGPS-X to Z

i love you i say until the final star i say until the night i say i love you i say until god whatever bloody use you can put that to

313 do you love me you ask me do you love me really do you love me really really you ask me only because you are precisely sure that i really love you really

do you love me i ask you do you love me really do you love me really really i ask you only because i am precisely sure that you really love me really

OAPFPF-X

Maundy Thursday. The sun high in its tower of malachite. The sky oblique and orthodox. Shadows of lampblack. The old wounds re-open once more; you disappear in a crossfire of light. Leave behind only your charred photograph within me.

314 OGPAPF-X

Common prayer day. The horrid heart of jealousy cleft by swords as on the tarot card or gleaming like a coat of arms in the sky’s heraldry. That I cannot prove you are unfaithful to me does not of course prove your fidelity to me, beloved.

OSPAPG-X

i am celebrating the goldberg variations with the approach of winter a bottle of booze and your recurring absence studying at length the counterpoint in the aria you should wish i will never find the key nor that to your heart what is life worth without this closed chamber

315 OSPAPG-Y

i’m sitting with my headphones on: the variations for harpsichord karl richter was in fine form when the first variation was recorded the harpsichord sounds like a doubledecker from the great war i’m there in my imagination roaring with holy spirit so as to punish you (your absence)

OSPAPG-Z

did you see glenn gould on television already by the second variation only his head and hands were above the raging ivory of the keyboard how does a man end up looking like that i answer you in my fashion: forty years with bach half a century with pure spirit

OSPSPF-X

You send me a spring snowflake instead of yourself; a flower that has broken through Jutland’s magic mirror. You punish me thus with love. I press the lily in the Book of Isaiah as a prophecy.

316 OGPFPS-X

if you listen closely you can hear after the third variation glenn gould’s voice beneath the silence like implosions of despair like a white noise from the crematory you can hear bats you can hear the seventh night’s song

OGPSPS-1

i entered the rose garden and cut one flower from an ‘innocence’

i considered at great length its whiteness and mor tal magnificence

fantin la tour could not have painted that flower more beautifully

317 OGPSPG-X

Whit Sunday. Coldness behind sun and heart. I have not talked mumbo jumbo or in tongues to you. On the contrary said straight out that I love you. Christening. What’s up with ours. Where in non-being, in what blind la guna has it concealed itself?

OGPSPA-X

I have baked bread today with yeast that is softer than moonlight. Have followed your recipe carefully. I call this loaf of bread ours et cetera. This loaf heavy and indigestible as a railway sleeper.

OGPSPA-Y

Daily bread have I baked of flour that is whiter than the Gospel of St. Matthew. Have followed your recipe with seriousness and devotion. I call this loaf of bread ours and so on. This communion bread hard and unbreakable as a Totenschläger.

318 OGPGPF-X

Trinity Sunday. The spire of St. John’s Church stands like a Saturn V in its smoking clouds of holy spirit. And I also united with you now in the children, their union with God. And I more than myself now; two daughters and two expectations more?

OGPGPG-X to Y

You had a noseblood yesterday and vomiting now (plus diverse trips to the loo). That is the punishment or the cost of the night’s euphoria. That is how I take revenge from the inside, my love in living flesh and blood.

I had a hangover yesterday and feel queasy now (plus various withdrawal symptoms). That is the punishment or the cost of the day’s digression. Such is your revenge from the outside, my love: false alarm again in a resounding wind egg.

319 OFPAPFPF-X

Third Sunday after Trinity. The soul is compact today, almost substance-like; celluloid under the sun’s burning-glass. I can feel that the Devil is after it, roars with it as in Peter’s first Epistle.

OFPAPSPS-X

you have to admit that the fourth variation sounds a bit like a haarlem organ or a hurdy-gurdy in richter’s version the spirit’s servomechanism arranged for two manuals the rigour of pure spirit executed on a neupert harpsichord

320 OFPAPSPS-Y

the fifth’s light spiral of silver swirled up into the upper air as if gould was playing with kid gloves on it indicates a slight headcold of the spirit an attack of hayfever so to speak before the major infection sets in in the trinity

OFPAPGPS-X to Z

in his seventh year swedenborg pricked himself on a white rose drops of blood coloured one of the petals red as in a magisterium young emanuel never forgot that sight from that day onwards he began to deny the crucifixion

in a way he tried to cleanse this blood with the chemicals of the spirit he called on the angels for help he proved god’s existence he solved the equations of the trinity for the sake of this one petal

321 on his death bed he saw empyriums in his mind’s eye he saw christ raise his hand he saw god’s face at two bow’s lengths emanuel swedenborg’s last words were these: the rose is red or they could have sounded like that

OFPAPSPS-Y

Seventh Sunday after Trinity. I hack in the credo. My soul is murky and distracted by memories. Far from al haqq. I concentrate. Put on my glasses. Try to gaze into the invisible.

OFPSPSPS-X

i came to think of the peculiar thing that bach is the only person who purely in principle (independently of time) cannot hear bach (with bach underlined) for the same reasons that existence cannot be absolutised

322 OFPFPSPS-Y

in the seventh variation the autumn leaves do not blow curled of iron in the hospital gardens in the seventh variation there is no cinnober in the seventh variation the rays of moonlight do not fall crosswise in the seventh variation karl richter has played pure spirit in or rather played it out

OFPFPGPS-X to Y

“Trust yourself” Dylan sings on his latest record. What does he mean by that? (among about ninety six possibilities so far). Who is to trust whom? “Trust yourselves” he ought to have sung.

Don’t get me wrong: when ‘I’ for example go out into the kitchen to brew a cup of coffee and ‘I’ then come in with a cup of lemon tea, then a crisis of confidence has really come about hasn’t it, Mr. Zimmermann!

323 OFPSPAPS-X

Eighth Sunday after Trinity. Maria Magdalena is sitting among her roses of glass in the pane up there. I wonder if her soul is feeling cold? I am not listening to the hymns, only to Freddie Mercury’s voice: spread your little wings and fly away, fly away fly.

OFPSPSPS-X

I stood at the edge of your soul, looked in over the field’s summer lightning. I tried to catch you in my words. But you dived in flames through the net of concepts when the Leonids fell, leaving me with this charred poem.

324 OFPGPAPG-1 to 2

the next rose i saw was a ‘crimson glory’ that was redder than the

house of lancaster how i asked myself am i to manage so much

beauty how on earth am i to bear such an a mount of happiness?

there there stood a ‘peace’ yellower than any peace like a coup de grace

and i knew that i had arrived but not what i had come to like that

july day i found a five of hearts on christi ansborg castle square

OFPGPSPS-X

Johann Sebastian Bach seldom suffered from melancholy, because the structure in his music constantly opened a breathing hole, constantly overcame the body’s draught in the soul. Because the glittering gunpowder of the sarabande constantly blasted new peepholes in the dark.

325 OFPGPGPF-X to Y

I opened my soul’s red gate and entered between the poplars. The moon’s quartz watch changed numbers just then like a commercial in the night. Had anything else changed since that time before? But the soul was still just as large and dark in its implacability; I almost the opposite.

I knew that I could calmly go on into the encyclopedia of these great woods, because the solution to the mystery was not to be found there among the milestones of the Plough. I could not get lost because love’s fuse would leave behind its ash like scars in my body in my nerves’ labyrinth

OAPAPAPF-1 to 2

you have sent me a postcard with a pink rose on it i think it is

a ‘fairy’ and it is certainly fairytale- like in its magic

image it is im mortal because it has nev er actually grown

326 the ‘briarcliff’ rose stood in an earthenware jar it had nothing to

do with love or a prelude by the composer villa-lobos when

it comes to that it did not symbolise any thing else but itself

OAPAPAPS-X

Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity The autumn opens its hymn book. I close mine and listen to the organ that roars with God’s breath. Hear the great decreation of silence between the notes, because my mind is elsewhere.

327 OAPAPGPS-X

Twentieth Sunday after Trinity. The sky open wide. The light makes cracks in the mind deeper than in the plaster of the church wall. What part of my soul left me this day where silence has come to the boil?

OAPFPFPS-X

Twenty-second Sunday after Trinity. Why do I not listen to the words of St Paul. Why does the sun fizz like an aspirin. Why is my soul so tired. Why this and why that. Why the hymn’s (answer’s) redundancy?

328 OAPFPSPG-1

why did the young boy break off the last of the ros es in december

why did the young boy break off the last of the cel estial roses

why did the young boy break off the last of the ros es and discard it?

OAPFPGPF-X

I say the most difficult sentence in any language: I love you As if I had never said anything else, because the truth will out or rather “Murder will out”. That’s why, my love.

OAPSPAPS-X

the first snow is falling white as the flowers of the dwarf elder in my childhood just as the eighth variation is intoned they suit each other: the same bound passion that stretches chastity to its breaking point

329 OAPSPAPS-Y

the first snow is fallings white as the ninth variation beneath glenn gould’s bony hands why am i so fascinated by this snow because it is as indescribable as the intangibility of bach’s works because it is purer than death?

OAPSPAPS-Z

the first snow is falling white as the holy spirit over the tenth variation’s fughetta and i comprehend for a brief instant the incomprehensible before it disappears into its own implosions of self-contradiction

330 OAPGPAPS-X to Y

Menuet I

for olle (Lullaby) Dad’s bottle-hitting, rubbish he is knitting. Dad’s TV-happy twaddle changing baby’s nappy. Dad’s with the lads out on the street, nonsense rinsing rubber teats. Dad is lighting a cigar nuts he’s running baby’s bath.

Menuet II

for jappe (Wiegen-lied) Dad’s drunk booze with a ladle, rubbish he’s rocking the cradle. Dad’s pulling hard at a cork bullshit mashing with a fork. Dad’s a card-game nerd twaddle he’s sniffing a turd. Dad is listening to Bach, nonsense babbling in the dark. Dad says he is Norwegian, nuts he’s off to join the foreign legion.

OAPGPAPF-1 to 2

the seventh rose is a ‘snowwhite’ that is standing in eliot’s poem

burnt norton white with transcendence look i say to you i have replanted

or at any rate rewritten the rose from one poem to another

331 a rose is a rose is a rose – why not be satisfied

with tautology in a pure form: a rose is a rose – or

even more simply: ‘rosa alba’ this is simp ly more than enough

OAPGPAPG-X

Third Sunday in Advent. The frost sparkles in the constellation of Pegasus, where Halley’s comet can be seen with the naked eye, white as my semen that will also soon coagulate and stiffen inside you, my love

OAPGPFPA-P to S labyrinth P The butterfly is dreaming that it is Chuang who has just sat down under a tree and dreamt that he was a butterfly, that Chuang who has got this problem: if it is the butterfly that is dreaming that it is Chuang, who has just sat down under a tree and dreamt etc. etc. ...

332 Labyrinth Q If the butterfly is dreaming that it is Chuang, then Chuang cannot include this butterfly in his notion since a dream in the last resort cannot itself decide that it is a dream. And where then does the notion about the butterfly that is dreaming Chuang come from?

Labyrinth R This notion comes of course from Chuang, because he has both dreamt and been awake and therefore has been able to set up the problem. Chuang’s consciousness is the third eye. Chuang has dreamt the butterfly and not vice versa.

Labyrinth S “Once Chuang Tze dreamt he was a butterfly. He did not know he was Chuang Tze. Suddenly he woke up and was unmistakably Chuang Tze. But now he did not know if he was Chuang Tze who had dreamt he was a butterfly, or a butterfly who is dreaming it is Chuang Tze.”

333 OAPGPSPG-1

TAKE ONE

Outside March stands in aquamarine. The sun fizzes like a tablet in wine. In here: static electricity and the panes’ false facticity.

It’s too late to be grateful. It’s too late to be late again. The glass splinters in welding-sparks from the light.

My back is stiff with rheumatics and fear at all the life that’s breaking out in my body’s most distant nooks all the love that conquers its death.

It’s too late to be hateful. The sound spreads in my blood like salicylic acid pricks like an allergy in my skin.

In here: electricity’s glare Out there: the spring’s Judas kiss and wind.

OSPAPGPF-1

the southern sky the quartz watch of the stars ivory saturn in its candelabra where does the darkness come from where does the border lie between dark and light i am myself that border and can therefore never go beyond it otherwise nothing

334 OSPFPAPF-X to Y

Epiphany. There stands the high judgment seat of frost. The clouds drift uncontested through the church (or through my head?) as on the altarpiece. The host tastes pure like the justice of death. The wine is sweeter than anaesthetic.

OSPFPAPF-Y

The fourth Sunday after Epiphany. Candlemas’ light like an inquisition that ransacks faith for the slightest doubt. My soul and conscience. Nothing can I hide, not even from myself in this scorching autodafé.

335 OSPFPAPF-Z

Fifth Sunday after Epiphany. Does the vicar really believe what he’s up there preaching? – I make my own faith hard and cold so it does not run out into the sewers as meltwater on Røsnæs vej. Or is it my doubt I keep so white and pure?

OSPFPAPF-Æ

Septuagesima Sunday. The moon is shining like a concave mirror. I look the vicar straight in the eye, try not to let my gaze waver. Now my superego is probably satiated by the wafer, my id probably by the wine, Reverend?

336 OSPFPFPA-1

TAKE TWO legendary hearts tearing us apart

Who is it singing? the young journalist asks me. I look at her and reply with a tired voice: Lou Reed. How do you spell that? Suddenly I feel my age lie heavy.

And I recall the elderly poet who, when I was young, said reproachfully: Dan Turell doesn’t know Rilke and you stuff him into a computer. It is the same story in a different key. and you’ve got to fight to make it right

OSPSPAPF-X

First Sunday after Easter. The sky is almost leaning westwards. From the soul a faint smell of lysol rises up in my nostrils. Who’s being buried there? – Some one who has already been buried in another soul.

337 OSPSPGPA-X

Third Sunday after Easter. The bell in the distance sounds submerged, sounds like rings in water. I almost reflect myself to death in the chimes; the I in the I in the I in the I... Stop. And go there now.

OSPSPGPG-1

TAKE THREE

I could hear it from the telephone, which chimed like the moon. And the doorbell sounded different than usual; a fifth higher, more violet.

Something ominous was in the offing: The Ides of March, Great Prayer Day or simply the sun’s great Messidor? I took a look in the calendar; no! – no solution to be found here.

Had I overlooked some wedding or other, my own for example. Was Jupiter in the square of Mercury. Had I forgotten to turn off the gas, were the tax authorities lying in wait?

338 I went out and looked at myself in the mirror – good grief back to loving-kindness again. Had my mother died of anthrax. Had I lost every copyright to my own life?

The explanation caught me napping as it always does, when a friend phoned and said: I am a conservative. And I replied with a rough voice: I’ve got nothing – nothing to say.

OSPGPAPS-X to Y

Fifth Sunday after Easter. Give it a rest my soul, keep quiet. Another bell is ringing for your inner ear than the one of ore and bronze than all telephones. Another bell is calling you in to silence.

339 Ascension Day Visited instead of going to church Søren Kierkegaard’s grave. For sentimental reasons of course. Placed a fresh petunia there. Its white trumpet towards the sky. His Master’s Voice.

OGPAPFPA-1

there are no roses in april i therefore look up in my book on

roses where roses are blossoming by the thou sand – i choose with great

care a ‘Schneewittchen’ because it is even whi ter than the paper

OGPAPGPF-X

Second Sunday after Trinity. I enter June’s church, where the sunlight is so strong that I am afraid of becoming trans parent, afraid of becoming pure spirit, of becoming pure nothing.

340 OGPAPGPG-X

Fifth Sunday after Trinity. My soul has gone into pappus and is now being scattered to the four winds. “For the goodliness of all flesh is as the flower of the field.” A single seed has landed here as this poem.

OGPFPGPS-X

Sixth Sunday after Trinity. The soul is steaming inside my body like coffee in a thermos flask. Or rather like a pressure cooker. Evaporation I think it’s called. What salt will it become, I wonder?

341 OGPSPAPA-1

i have no idea what the name of the rose is you have embroidered

perhaps ‘heidekind’ or ‘ophelia’ it is of no importance

its petals unfold in precisely the same way as your labia

OGPSPFPG-1

TAKE FOUR

Midnight’s quartz I fall down once more into matter: the dismembered parts.

An endless loop runs in my left ear drowning out what my right ear is trying to hear.

Once more the opposite neighbour’s clock chimes three minutes too early; it’s been doing that for several years, but it doesn’t matter.

I assume that it’s in order to gain some time, but deep down I don’t give a damn.

Three more minutes to squander on false premises, isn’t that of complete unimportance?

342 Three minutes more or less with the speed of light that’s not my style cross my heart even in fair play.

More than this – there is nothing. More than this – tell me one thing. More than this – there is nothing.

OGPSPSPA-X

Ninth Sunday after Trinity. Røsnæs Church white with sodium or with wedding horses. The soul’s electrolysis reflected in the plaster. I am facing my life’s most difficult task: to have to receive without fear without shame without remorse.

OGPGPFPG-X

Thirteenth Sunday after Trinity. The autumn flowers are lit on the altar. The wine is bad. Think of bringing my own hip flask along next time. I mean: can the miracle take place at all in fruit squash?

343 OGPGPSPS-X – Z

Twenty-fourth Sunday after Trinity. Fog. It is one of those days when I really have to make an effort to construct a doubt that looks plausible; even on paper. That’s not all that promising. What is wrong. Has my faith become fundamentalistic?

Twenty-fifth Sunday after Trinity. The sheep are grazing in the field down by the fjord. The grass is their answer. I too have found an answer today. But now I cannot remember to what question; or whether I have asked it at all. Is it then an answer?

344 Twenty-sixth Sunday after Trinity. What does the late Kingo have to say this day? Can I find consolation in the Summer Part, even though it is late-November? He points me back to my faith once more. For him no doubt is to be found in non-atonement.

OGPGPGPG-1 to 2

look there stands the rose more magnificent than could be imagined by

any fantasy more beautiful than any po em written about

it – it ought to have been red since it is a ‘queen elizabeth’ but

it has made itself white on my birthday like an ‘edina’ (that has

just not had suffi cient light) there stands the rose more finely clothed than a

ny king solomon more completely real than re ality itself

345 OFPAPAPAPF-X

Quinquagesima Sunday. The wind rumbles in barrels that hang in distant parishes. My trials and tribulations that are now of another kind seem almost heavier to me now than formerly: I am being tested in joy’s most subtle accidences.

OFPAPSPAPG-X

Second Sunday in Lent. On my way home from church I see that large ice floes are drifting around the fjord like St. Paul’s words from the sermon to day are floating aimlessly around in my mind. Words that perhaps strand in you my love?

OFPAPSPFPS-X

I am playing suites anglaises all this week. Shrovetide week. I drily state that such an air is neither for women nor parrots. “No – nor for men nor monkeys” you reply mercilessly and aptly.

346 OFPAPSPSPA-X

Palm Sunday. Outside the church the flag has the opposite colours of those of victory and resurrection. Inside the church I mime to a hymn by Grundtvig the melody of which I do not know. Inside my head a mental playback is taking place.

OFPSPAPFPF-X

Good Friday. Ulstrup vænge lies bathed in a strange light, white farther off like an albedo round the church. Perhaps the catholics are right. Perhaps nature is really redeemed once a year at that moment?

347 OFPFPFPSPF-X

one of the secrets of everything that is of the spirit is the vast multiplicity of repetition because precisely this principle ensures that the underlying unity is heard so clearly without it being heard exactly as here in the eleventh variation

OFPFPFPSPF-Y

the twelfth variation’s endless variations on itself so as to attain that note which in spite of this will never be heard demonstrates this precisely naturally glenn gould was aware of that fact when he recorded precisely the twelfth variation

348 OFPFPFPSPF-Z

the tragic thing was however that when the miracle took place after innumerable attempts (as here in the thirteenth variation) glenn gould did not have any idea of this himself because he was deafened by the white noise of the spirit the approximations of pure spirit the sine note of pure spirit

OFPAPSPGPA-X

Why does a gigue by Bach much such a violent noise. Why does it thunder more loudly than the canons at Poltava? Because it was to drown out twenty children. Because it was to vanquish twenty children’s cries, howls and potty training. Because it had to pacify Wilhelm Friedemann.

349 OFPFPSPFPG-X

who shall i let play the fourteenth variation gould who plays more than bach or richter who plays less than bach it is like choosing between integral and differential calculus or more prosaically: between cbs and archiv

OFPFPSPFPG-Y

the fifteenth variation’s endless summing up of itself is on the point of succeeding for richter because he instinctively suspects that sum and whole are not congruent even so he misses out because he tries to play precisely that note less

350 OFPSPFPAP-X

Easter Sunday. I am standing in Røsnæs cemetery in the midst of light’s invasion. It is presumably only in time we are to wait for the resurrection; for the dead it has long since taken place. Because eternity is long since.

OFPSPFPGP-1

i go out into the april night and consider the bandolier of the milky way a brilliant image don’t you think? this i have stolen from arrebo who for his part has stolen it from du bartas who in turn has stolen it from virgil who has stolen it from god

351 OFPSPSPAPS-X

Easter Monday. The seven- armed candelabra is lit on the altar like a second heptameron. Perhaps the word also only runs out as stiffened paraffin wax in the poems. Or is it in actual fact my own life?

OFPSPGPFPF-X

strange words are on the point of taking over my vocabulary – i catch myself saying at a chemist’s for example: mortgage what in all the world is that? does it exist somewhere or other out there in some murky office?

352 OFPSPGPFPF-Y

frightful abbrevi ations threaten my everyday existence like machine-gun fire a bbr identification is it something i owe some distant authority the burial authorities perhaps – or am i myself such a code is it their way of making their way into my poem?

OFPSPGPGPG-X

Second Sunday after Easter. After communion I find myself thinking that if God is both present in temporality and in etern ity, it is unimportant whether we are here or there in a certain sense whether we are alive or dead

353 OFPGPFPGPF-X

Fourth Sunday after Easter. The sky looks like a legend in a poem by Sarvig. The nave half way up in clouds, but no – it does not even capsize in my mind. I realise that the poem too is a metaphor – unchanging.

OFPGPGPFPF-X

the little chiff chaff in my hand why does it make me so sentimental? because its meaning less death against a window is a symbol of our life – or because it only has one life while we shall rise again?

354 OFPGPGPFPS-1

the opposite is true for glenn gould the sixteenth variation tricks him into believing that it is possible to play precisely that note more he wants to integrate the whole into itself to play the axiom into its own explanation

OFPGPGPGPG-X

redcurrant is over forsythia is out fashion changes fast in this business – the last tulips look like overfilled ashtrays cherry trees are the thing right now made in japan or as far as i’m concerned you can call them postmodernist

355 OFPGPGPGPG-Y

drivel is only found in language the spiraea does not talk drivel – it turns white take a step forward and at once you are out side the poem’s nonsense who in all the world would ever think of claiming that life itself is drivel yes only precisely language would do that

OAPAPAPFPG-X

Sixth Sunday after Easter. The sky is silver-grey like our new car. Shall we go there? I ask even though it is already too late. Peter’s epistle on the end of time will doubtlessly be read until the end.

356 OAPAPFPGPG-X

Whit Monday. The cherry blossoms dredge like small sparks of fire onto my hair. And in the church the voice of a baby interrupts the vicar’s sermon. Thus did the holy ghost also descend on Røsnæs this day.

OAPAPSPSPF-1

TAKE FIVE

I’m counting cherry blossoms this morning instead of sheep.

Eleven hundred and forty gleaming satoris in my imagination.

And not so as to fall asleep but to keep me awake.

I consider them one by one, each separately a dream, all the same; intoxicate myself on their generality.

Ah! böwakawa poussé, poussé.

357 OAPAPSPSPS-X toccata one in a while i think once in a while i think that i resemble bach once in a while i think that you think that i resemble bach once in a while i think that you think that i think that i resemble bach once in a while i think that i do not think once in a while i do not think

OAPAPSPSP-X

First Sunday after Trinity. Cold as bloody hell. I am warming myself at a love that is so great that I start to speculate as to whether it could be a sin; whether it possibly gets in the way of God?

358 OFPFPFPAPA-1

now bach well knew that a system cannot absorb its own ex planation (the endless implosion of pure spirit) he knew that a system cannot reject its own explanation (the endless explosion of pure spirit) he well knew that he had to rely on god in the seventeenth variation

OAPFPFPAPA-2

he knew that the eighteenth variation and every variation centres on the midpoint where god explains every wholeness is the inner cause of every system including johann sebastian bach’s vierter teil der clavier-übung: die goldberg variationen

359 OAPFPFPAPA-3

he well knew that pure spirit attempts to abolish its own material that pure spirit is a great despair therefore he went cheerfully on with the nineteenth variation’s purple in order to manifest the paradoxical unity which is the spirit

OAPFPFPAPFP-X

Fourth Sunday after Trinity The sun black as a crown of thorns, sooty as brass over the fields of spirit that burn deep within Luke’s Gospel. My own word also lies singed under this great pyromaniac fire.

360 OAPGPSPFPG-X

Tenth Sunday after Trinity. The sun still in leo, even though i cannot see this sign in the sky, so over cast it is today. As is my belief; it too does not require signs of sun and moon.

OAPGPSPFPG-Y

Eleventh Sunday after Trinity. The swallows are gathering unhesitatingly in large flocks prior to departure. My mind scatters once more in twenty reflections like a kaleidoscope. How was it now the saying went? Doubt is everyman’s thief.

361 OSPAPAPAPS-X

Twelfth Sunday after Trinity. I conceal my soul from God so he will not see the spots of doubt as on the wings of a fritillary butterfly. I conceal my soul from God. Deep within the soul I conceal it.

OSPAPFPAPG-X

Fourteenth Sunday after Trinity. The clouds pile up like shaving foam out above Asnæs. I have nicked my chin. The blood tastes sweet like altar wine it seems to me. Has a converse transsub stantiation taken place?

362 OSPAPFPFPF-1

that the impure spirit attempts to reject the spirit – in other words itself – i hardly need to underline that johann sebastian bach also knew that despair was not his stumbling block – just try listening to the twentieth variation’s scarlet then you will realise that

OSPAPFPFPF-2

therefore he collected in the twenty-first variation the spirit’s circles round each other in the right order of size and in the true sequence of colours (not like the olympic rings) in the seventh canon johann sebastian bach concentrated himself

363 OSPAPFPSPG-X

Fifteenth Sunday after Trinity. The September sun shines almost chromati cally down over Røsnæs. The distance between my body and soul is held wide-open by the light that drives a wedge into this stigmatisation.

OSPFPFPFPA-X

Seventeenth Sunday after Trinity. I consider the crucifix. The precision of suffering. The moment of decreation. The flesh that once more becomes word. Becomes the seven last words. Nothing else but words. What in all the world am I to say? (more)?

364 OSPFPFPFPF-X i could not remember what it was i was to remember and i had forgotten what it was i was to forget i could not remember what it was i was to forget and i had forgotten what it was i was to remember for a brief moment i thus found myself in a complete present

OSPFPFPSPA-X

Eighteenth Sunday after Trinity. The sky pure as an altar cloth. My spirit is spotted and slightly yellowed today. But what then? – Otherwise I would perhaps not have noticed it at all in all the light streaming down from the sky’s crystal chandelier

365 OSPFPFPSPS-X

Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity. Why does my belief have to go round reason every single time? – Why is it not simply pure? Because I have become old. I have no more to say now. Oh yes, the pews in Røsnæs church are bloody hard.

OSPFPFPSPG-1

you can hear the result in the twenty-second variation where the pyrotechnics of the holy ghost really sets in in earnest because the second relation has now been set because the trinity here has been set in in its absolutium

366 OSPFPFPSPG-2

that touch of the material’s ivory your reason cannot grasp – nor can your ear even catch it – it only hears an echo’s rings spread out concentrically through and as this twenty- third variation

OSPFPFPSPG-3

that touch can only be picked up by your belief that you really have heard that note there among the balance of the twelve others your belief that you nevertheless have heard the inaudible there in the twenty- fourth variation’s equilibrium

367 OSPFPFPSPG-4

you will never get any further into this paradox of paradoxes that glenn gould dis solves here in notes and resolves in the twenty-fifth variation from his little babychair’s grotesque and tragicomic ejection seat

OSPSPFPAP-X

Twentieth Sunday after Trinity. So many of those I have loved are there now, more and more and more. So it can’t really be all that bad to have to go there oneself one fine day. Well, it can’t be, can it? Even though All Saints Day is also beautiful here.

368 OSPGPAPFPF-1 for klaus rifbjerg now that the avant garde have laid down their arms and the young poets are falling backwards (not from drink but at themselves) i make my way out to a particular box with tomatoes on remisevej ah – how refreshing to bite into such a real ‘tomato’

369 OSPGPFPFPG-X

Kunst der Fuge

This poem refers to the poem on the opposite page, where it says ‘Kunst der Fuge’ as a tribute to Johann Sebastian Bach a literal gesture. Tell me now if this poem has been written before or after the poem to which it refers.

It cannot have been written before, since there is then no poem to which it refers. And it can not have been written after, since the poem to which it refers cannot for similar reasons have been written before this poem. What then?

In this case the answer is simple enough. This poem is identical with the poem to which it refers on the opposite page. They have been written simultaneously.

370 OSPGPFPFPG-Y

Kunst der Fuge

This poem refers to the poem on the opposite page, where it says ‘Kunst der Fuge’ as a tribute to Johann Sebastian Bach a literal gesture. Tell me now if this poem has been written before or after the poem to which it refers.

It cannot have been written before, since there is then no poem to which it refers. And it can not have been written after, since the poem to which it refers cannot for similar reasons have been written before this poem. What then?

In this case the answer is simple enough. This poem is identical with the poem to which it refers on the opposite page. They have been written simultaneously.

371 OSPGPFPFPG-Z

Kunst der Fuge

This poem refers to the poem on the opposite (right) page, where it says ‘Kunst der Fuge’ as a tribute to Johann Sebastian Bach a literal gesture. Tell me now if this poem has been written before or after the poem to which it refers.

It cannot have been written before, since there is then no poem to which it refers. And it can not have been written after, since the poem to which it refers cannot for similar reasons have been written before this poem. What then?

Now this poem is not identical with the poem to which it refers on the opposite (right) page. It must either have been written before or after this. But as you have seen it cannot be. What then?

372 OSPGPFPFPG-Æ

Kunst der Fuge

This poem refers to the poem on the opposite (left) page, where it says ‘Kunst der Fuge’ as a tribute to Johann Sebastian Bach a literal gesture. Tell me now if this poem has been written before or after the poem to which it refers.

It cannot have been written before, since there is then no poem to which it refers. And it can not have been written after, since the poem to which it refers cannot for similar reasons have been written before this poem. What then?

Now this poem is not identical with the poem to which it refers on the opposite (left) page. It must either have been written before or after this. But as you have seen it cannot be. What then?

373 OSPGPFPGPF-X

Twenty-third Sunday after Trinity. I cannot con centrate on the words today. They seem to me just as abstract as they are. Compared with the marigolds on the altar they fall short. The marigold’s halo. The words are only half the truth.

OSPGPFPGPG-1

i don’t want to appear knowing about the twenty-sixth variation but i can once more hear the absence of what i believed to have heard not because karl richter plays badly but because i have once more begun to doubt

374 OSPGPFPGPG-2

the old illness giddiness catches me here in the twenty- seventh variation: the winding staircase of salt and turquoise that leads from the pure to the impure spirit here in the repeated acceleration around nothing whatever

OSPGPFPGPG-3

but only a brief instant then i let go of myself and am immediately myself once more the spirit’s emergency brake works impeccably both in me as in the twenty-eighth variation’s repetition of its own variation

375 OSPGPSPSPA-X

First Sunday in Advent. It is not the events that are called miracles that are so hard to grasp. More that i have to create them myself each time by transforming the events into miracles by virtue of my belief.

OGPAPFPAPA-X

Second Sunday in Advent. It is smoking from winter’s crystal. My words freeze solid to the paper like the tongue to iron, like the soul to its body. Can the heat from two paraffin wax candles separate them again. Or the heart’s secret fire?

376 OSPAPSPSPG-X

Fourth Sunday in Advent. The clouds look like boiling lead; tracks dark with snow. But then the light of creation is also black deep down within because this act calls for so much light that everything else darkens slightly, when a human child is born.

OGPAPGPGPG-X

Christ’s birthday. I do not go to church. Consider instead a reproduction of Meister Francke’s ‘Christmas Night’. I don’t know much about births; only about the spiritual (they hurt). But the sky is as red as the glossy paper from my own childhood.

377 OGPAPGPGPG-Y

St. Stephen’s Day. The light’s crossed rapiers beneath my heart. The exertions of faith. Hope’s eternal slog. Love’s hard work. These three. Then these three will remain in their un changingness life’s three stumbling blocks.

OGPFPAPAPG-X

Sunday after Christmas. Six days after the dark faith starts from scratch once more. Over and over again. The same light like a burning round my reason. The same small flame in the heart, that will grow from now on until the next solstice.

378 OGPFPAPSPG-X

New Year’s Day. Now that God is both here and there, what then are you worried about? – Then it is clearly of no importance whether I myself am there or here at Røsnæs in the winter-lightning light on this Day of Our Lord anno domini nineteen eighty three.

OGPFPFPSPG-X

there is a post scriptum to that fairytale – before withdrawing god warned the first humans not to prise open the casket – in that case they would fail to obtain the actual knowledge that was precisely the key that now had lost its meaning

379 OGPFPFPSPG-Y

this he called the inner mistake – whereas the outer mistake would consist of opening the casket using force – for example blowing it up which would result in both the casket and the key being blasted to smithereens and thereby being lost in meaninglessness

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First Sunday after Epiphany. No snow yet. Not a single snowflake to cool the reason which is working flat-out day and night in order to work itself out, even though it is so simple because it has never been inside itself.

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and i know that i can safely abandon myself to the beauty of the twenty-ninth variation because one facet of beauty in one way or other also reflects entire beauty while this for its part cannot reflect itself

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the thirtieth variation sets in in my spirit – the moon strikes eleven – and it is for me such a joy to be alive that my soul flicks up like a pine branch that has been weighted by snow for a long time it is such a joy to me to be a man because only as such can i love you

381 OGPFPSPSPA-3 i am celebrating the goldberg variations with the approach of winter a bottle of booze and your recurring absence studying at length the counterpoint in the aria you should wish i will never find the key nor that to your heart what is life worth without this closed chamber

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Second Sunday after Epiphany. Overcast. The gospel of the east wind. The temptations have not been able to cover over the last flower; it gleams like a rose through the plaster below the pulpit’s high caparison.

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Third Sunday after Epiphany. A new cantor has taken up his appointment. A younger voice fills the church but not the words, which are as unchanging as God. I seek consolation in this fact, while writing down this last cantata.

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