As a child I was disgusted by the taste of milk

So you´re supposed to make a few people
happy in some kind of way.
It would concern a brilliant putting together
of two concepts,
something making you feel the summer.
Fragrance of hay,
happiness,
a music making you remember something.
But then if an effort is supposed to have an aim to it
at least you shouldn´t so decisively
disregard the stable values
even tho’ they would inevitably have traits of
extremely stupid facial expressions.
Otherwise
you would risk taking upon yourself the scathing
exercise
of being opposed to existence,
and then again not in the recent mode
where blackness is a kind of lilac life,
a beggar existence for two hours at the theatre
after all means a relief afterwards on the street
for example.
But still, one just has to admit:
everything fades away,
almost by itself.
A Persian wrote beautifully about intoxication from
wine,
surely he was drunk on some occasion.
What blue sky did he see then?
Nobody and nothing
filters this forth;
because you shouldn´t expect the words to turn
corporeal,
they don´t approach like bodies to comfort you
with the warmth of bodies.
The drunkenness doesn´t respect itself either,
nothing returns
why then don´t I dare to take the plunge here in an
existence
where all manner of highness and well-being has been
neutralized?
It seems as if I hope for something
I know nothing about.
If it´s not the enthusiasm of the moment,
if it´s not timeless stubbornness,
then could it perhaps be only
a completely unglamorous besetting of working time.
A life of duty then.
But one should still assume
that my own destruction
of much of what I have delighted in –
whatever it might be,
not only the flickering sunshine & fidelity & the
present moment standing by
a water body,
something else as well, the identification
perhaps –
should be included
in the person who I am at this moment,
it’s within my responsibility
like foam descending in a waterfall.

A warrior

1. (I)

One alone stands up. STAND! And understand, re-
jected.
All the others are broken in the middle
by belts of monsters.
The chaining of thoughts is in their lower parts
and in their upper parts
is the beginning of the spring,
        says he the only wholesome that is left.
    But it is loneliness that he
turns springlike then: rust speckled stillwaters
around me, desolate
        macro-time, made for gods,
        kids and big prey animals.
Rushes of wind throwing
        themselves out over wind – over –
in the loneliest of waters and wind, the most desolate
    drop of water
in non-touch with its own limbs. Ejaculation big
semen.
I don´t want then to be this deathbulging wait for
itself!

2. (Venus)

An ewe is born
and then turns into a flock.
A calling has been given to her: they walk
    away with her, afar.
        Sooted things
will be made ebony sheen, for the sake
of a heaven today.
She must become the flowing path
on which they have disclaimed their steps. She is
the you-sun. She is mummy like noone. She
        is booh-you-booh!
a baa
since freedom bleats when it is always here.

3. (I)

The eagerness in all the others
shall be rewarded,
    a decision has been made saying so – the eagerness
        after all reaches
stalagmite-high to the ceiling. And then
he who is spurious and has THE RIGHT WORD in the
breastpocket
        of his shirt
shall not be able to beat up everything I have loved,
with all that
    blood splashing,
on he who is anybody –
but who with a wintry seasky over eyes
crawls into the hairy skin that the bee has left
behind.
Therefore
    I have
forgotten all contexts,
        and for this reason the new comes sparkling
    born today and outside time.

4. (Venus)

Younger than this year´s snow: the newly tarred deck.
Yes, she knows herself with the answer’s thousands of
years on top of each other,
    and with the blackening in the mediating links
        between us. To be answer
until one’s own dying out has gazed itself still.
Morning
leaps upon morning
in the lovely delirious fever in which shiny-eyed
children take over
where she has reached the conclusion
    that she must keep in hiding.
It shall be filtered forth from the dirty water all
this tender cuddling
due to which
we have let her kill herself from drudgery. On
staggering legs
one rises, when one hasn´t even been reached by the
freedom in looking this way
or the other.
    Forever she must come into being again
in secret, unfurling.

5. (I)

Dark is the frozen sea that I see. Dark – but
    It’s no one
who glossily and glossier and the most glowing, glossy
glistening
inside me glossily
        has wished to be in the darkness seen,
capriciously by whom.
Firmly stands he – without this one being me saying
his name –
    by his duties to stir up what has been soldered
together
from being too strongly white.
        These drops emerging from here
are hurled away here and there.
He is invoked by what is nothing special,
and he is doing what he´s supposed to:
    beholds himself unto what has been injured in
mortars.

6. (Venus)

It has changed – for
    whatever reason –
so that now she’s situated at the bottom of the well,
the dead one
with her hair let loose.
NOWHERE-REIGN SET ABLAZE!
All who are dead can charm us with finity. That she
        on the other hand,
    who has been buzzing of bees from the bygone,
should believe herself to be better by existing inside
a mirror,
this no one has been able to surmise, nor decide that
it should be so.
If she in this is not a mirroring reflection that has
spurred itself deeply into flesh,
then she is once again
        in all the rich vegetation seething over.

7. (I)

A jar into which one pours the fully skyreflecting
water.
From pitched battles arise the shrieks and plucky
calls
for carrying on beast hunt.
        That I have to choose – and then
    be chosen. One I
cannot be,
two, then I explode. To count any further would
follow
the scorn of one who is always greater than heaven,
the will, like the protection,
        never grows to catch up with this one.
So no more at all then.
It is this what we, either we’ve froths around our
mouths
    or not,
have thrown away lances for, as a place
for a sunshine?
        He gets no answer,
this intoxicated one. There is only the voice that he
just heard,
her darkly golden
in the mirrors allowed to be seen.

The horseshoegloved

    Why shunt I do dat? Itsonly matteruvyurlife.
    (Why shouldn´t I do that? It´s only a matter of your
life.)

    deep breath AND THEN I SEE MY ENEMY IN THE EYES

            woman
        a woman beauty
            speaks

yellow gold yellow gold yellow gold yellow gold yellow
gold yellow gold

        you shall lick me up breathlessly
        receive the sun’s bronzing powers
        die of my watchfulness
        take upon yourself my habits
        drink the water I consist of
        empty the sunny into yourself
        strike everyone with the one you are then
        trinity: you – I – judge

Mild meadows
            which I
        regain during my walk
            through what´s putting me out

A fire I was: w o r d s w o r d s w o r d s w
o r d s , I hear the judge say
w o r d s a r e a l w a y s a d e n f o r f i r
e , I hear the judge continue

Now pure (like I was once when I wiped up after a
drunkard
who was at my parents’ place and had peed outside the
toilet frame
and I then mentioned nothing of this to anyone in the
world, and like I
also was when I ran desperately around along the shore
thinking
my missing sister had drowned and then with a
bloodtaste in my mouth
rushed home to the summerhouse where she sat by the
petunias).

I am pure

    Yeayu pure. Havya seenit?
    (Yes you´re pure. Have you seen it?)

M a y b e , I finally realize that the judge has
mumbled
M a y b e , m a y b e n o t . W h o c a n t e l l
i f t h e r e i s s t i l l a n y c o n c e i t
l e f t i n h i m ?

How unjust! I who don´t even imagine these leafy
meadows
where flood takes over at bounding river mouths in a
salmon pink twilight and
Unjust, I must say, since I haven´t even imagined my
own presence
like the third body in the trio embracing each other
with heads bent
and the arms around each others´ shoulders almost like
hockey players
            before the game
Unjust is the word – I imagine NOTHING!

T h e r e w e a r e ! D i d n ´ t I k n o w i
t !
H e i m a g i n e s N O T H I N G !
T h e n c o u l d w e p l e a s e h e a r w h a t
t h i s N O T H I N G l o o k s l i k e ?

Yes,
    it doesn´t look like anything,
            I don´t know
I guess it isn´t anything,
        I mean, it isn´t, is it?
I mean, I only notice what´s happening
That´s what I do

    Shudda breathon him?
    (Should I breath on him?)

yes, kiss me! – – – – – – y e s k i s s h i m ,
a n d l e t ´ s s e e

what´s happening? – – – whatever is happening? –
– – and what has happened? – – – kiss kiss kiss
kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss
kiss kiss

            and I saw my childishness
            come into being again: read in the sun of
sunstrip
            read from all worry,
                tomthumb breath
which makes me walk backwards one step to get away
from myself

I saw myself turning into the bluest mooninvisibility
of the sky

I was there

A favor of happiness

Rose-hip soup

These people said: YOU’RE YOUNG – YOU’VE GOT
A FUTURE AHEAD OF YOU.

Yes. They said lots of things about me,
what they imagined about me –

and certain things I still remember,
I can for instance hear just the voice, the male
voice, that
said this thing about biting – a neutral,
factual voice, an intelligent voice, I couldn´t notice
any particular accent, but I guessed this person
would be from the Stockholm region,
and that he was somewhere between forty and
maybe sixty, maybe sixty rather than forty …
More or less
literally
this person said: “And you, you wouldn´t – if it
really came to it
– have any scruples about biting into any of our
underarms or thighs,
if sometime in the future there would be no food here.
Yes, if that was the case – if for some reason
that´s what it came to,
complete lack of food –
that´s how you would react – that, that´s for sure
… “ – Precisely
this
last twist to it – “that, that´s for sure …” – I
remember particularly vividly,
because he smiled a little after this, and it was a
smile that I
have come to give some thought to.
Yes, I didn´t understand at all what they meant (on
the other hand, I hardly
ever did: who cried? –
who wept like a waterfall, down there on the madrass?
and what
was it that I couldn´t understand one bit of?)

Since all the while I refused to eat
beetroot in any form, I couldn´t
for example suspect
the girls in my school – sitting there at the
dining-room tables –
to have peed
a reddish urine
after having had beetroot and veal brawn;
this
reddening to the urine
didn´t apply, though,
to what was my favorite dish: rose-hip soup. No. No.

To try – anew, at adult age – to change.
You know, this thing
that you probably could call experience,
if experiences weren´t actually
extremely rare things, what then does the morning look
like
which is the morning of a day when one
really has an experience? – – – A suggestion –
you can treat it any way you like, it´s just
a suggestion – – – First of all: find,
and then see to that you´re sitting as close as
possible to this old man,
he´s eighty plus something,
a relative of yours, but quite remotely,
let´s say your grandmother´s old half brother, he who
just had an infarct – – –

He sits quietly on the chair now, and then
leans his head
a little bit forward, as if he looked down – seat
yourself closer! –
go ahead! – because there, with him,
there´s
a sorrow
so immense, that you yourself you´re
a desert, completely flat and
open vast expanses,
compared to this man, to this man’s sorrow.

Yes, this sorrow –
and what is he actually
mourning? – it never gets quite clear to you –
this,
his sorrow,
is more or less like a lot of steps in a
staircase –
inert steps, hollowly echoing up and down – it´s never
over with.