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Johannes Bjerg


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​Johannes Bjerg's profile

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Gondol

sov sødt
verden

en tør raslen af vinger
mod mine øjnes
vinduer

de søer
jeg ikke kunne svømme i
men hvori solen
og stjernerne kastede
dele af dem selv
for at blinde mig

i denne hal
som natten er
spiller et orgel
kun de dybe toner
det er nattens
grundlæggende væv
der omringer, nej, belejrer
lotussen i knop
i søhestens dam

'hold dit sind i helvede
og frygt ikke' sagde han
mens han stirrede på sin frelser
gennem dæmonerne
der fyldte hans celle

med en brøkdel af hans tro
kunne jeg komme ud af sengen
og op i gondolen
der sejler ned ad tårekanalen
under Sukkenes (mine) Bro

i et hjørne
spiller en edderkop
på mandolin
en prisen af Guds helgener
på en meget
italiensk måde

alt er godt

Gondola

sleep well
world

a dry rustling of wings
against the windows
of my eyes

those lakes
I couldn't swim in
but wherein the sun
and the stars threw
bits of themselves
to blind me

in this hall
the night is
there's an organ playing
the deep notes only
it's the basic web
of darkness
surrounding, nay, besieges
the budding lotus
in the seahorse's pond

'keep your mind in hell
and fear not' he said
staring at his saviour
through the demons
filling his cell

with a fraction of his faith
I could get out of bed
and into the gondola
going down the lachrymal canal
under the Bridge of (my) Sighs

in a corner of my room
a spider plays his mandolin
in praise of tiny flies
and God's saints
in a very
Italian way

all is good


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edderkopper

normalt fjerner jeg edderkopper
i min lejlighed

men den dér
i hjørnet
over lampen
der vender opad
la'r jeg være

den spiser
de små insekter
der kommer indenfor
på varme somre
som denne her

det funker

               lad os danse siger jeg til neuronerne
               og de tager imod invitationen og vi
               danser en pogo hen over gulvet hvor
               der nu er plads mellem malerier i forskellig
               grader af ufærdighed og bliver svedige
               altså jeg gør jeg er ikke sikker på at neuroner
               har den egenskab men de kan holde rede på
               et vagt (sådan foretrækker jeg det) verdensbillede
               og oplagre data meget bedre end noget andet
               og pogo'en kræver ikke særlige evner
               udover at kunne bevæge arme og ben

enten fjerner
jeg dem med støvsugeren

edderkopperne

eller bruger en insektgift
med blomsterduft

og bruger så
støvsugeren
når de er døde

det er praktiskt

hjerteløst
men praktisk

i de situationer
frygter jeg de mere rigide
fortolkninger
af karma

Spiders

usually I get rid of spiders
in my flat

but that one
in the corner
above the lamp
pointing upwards
I let be

it eats those
tiny insects
that come inside
on warm summers
like this one

that'll do

             let's dance I say to the neurons
             and they accept the invitation
             we do a pogo across the floor
             littered with painting in various
             degrees of un-finishment and get
             sweaty well I do I'm not sure neurons
             have that ability but they can keep
             track of a vague (I prefer it that way)
             map of the world and store data
             much better than anything and the pogo
             demands no special ability other than
             to be able to move arms and legs

either I hoover
them up/in

the spiders

or use an insecticide
with floral scent

and hoover them
up when they're
dead

it's practical

heartless
but practical

in those situations
I fear the stricter interpretations
of karma 


Night Train

from nothing a couple of shakes [seeing god on the train] […] the on/off existence of villages. flash. can I where your dog / a face lit by a phone [hush] your scent. a lonely-chair. the absence of sky at night |talk don't talk remind me don't remind me. hold | fructose. a flock of dolphins at the all night gas station. rain pass don't pass me by. this tree has leaves in summer [slept too long the day is broken] up my nostrils almond oil and your juices add me to the list of emigrants | your piece of the ground 25 dog-ends a crushed snail | a fable about the young earth and a dream of innocence some Chinese or whatever has woven the fabric we sit on [press “stop” and mind your luggage] down pressed down. a note with “sor ..” just readable



Kyrie Eleison

frantically
looking for a credible
beginning
I make educated guesses
about my amphibian ancestors

bigger than the hills
the darkness
rolling in

just for a moment
borrowing an angel's tears

my second nature as moth Kyrie, Eleison
            ❧
leder hektisk
efter en troværdig
begyndelse
mine kvalificerede gætterier
om mine amfibiske forfædre

større end bakkerne
mørket
der ruller ind

blot for et øjeblik låner jeg
en engels tårer

min anden natur som møl Kyrie, Eleison

Going Home

guess what album I listened to on my way home


magical mystery tour
dad almost turn out
a ghost driver

night train fool on the hill fool in my head

perfume clouds girls flying on e

halfway to nowt a blue jay de-feathered

frying meatballs
mum sings a song
her mother knew

drunken teen he is me like I am him the walrus

hello
a boy leaves
walking backwards

taking me down strawberry hats of lead

rain a penny for every lane I walk alone

human zoo a rich man calls himself "Baby"

knowing what I need and live pale penguin
​

Three Haiku

culturally Christian and tired
by winter solstice
our skulls sing

kulturkristen og træt
ved vintersolhverv
synger vore kranier
      ❧
                              tumbling across
                              several sore limbs
                              a heavy Monday

                              tumler hen over
                              adskillige ømme lemmer
                              en tung mandag
                     ❧
                                                               so the heavens fall
                                                               and I have
                                                               my hands full

                                                               himlen falder ned
                                                               og jeg har
                                                               hænderne fulde

Slime Monday

a hatful
of head


discussing the significance of skid-marks in a self-proclaimed prophet's underwear theorists reach a point where for a king to be a certain and named king who died in a joust for him to be that king which is supposed to be the one mentioned in a certain prophesy he must have been someone else if we don't take into account that just by putting this vision onto a page and publishing it thus making it spread to thousand of living vibrating minds in itself will influence the future in such a way that the king wasn't king or even a human being but an apple with two cores ...


and
angelless
feathers


I zap on to another programme where a man back in the 1970's win 64.000 kroner by answering a question about rare stamps

I draw
the card
of the Fool


           slime Monday
          (not mentioned in the calendar)
           a lead snail sucks up
           the blue
           of the sky

linoleum - a mixed sequence / linoleul - en blandet sekvens

endless
like a hospital corridor
the road goes on ...
I'm handed a prescription
for a tolerable day

is this it?
waiting in a world
of silent linoleum

coming over the hills
October's light eating wolves

tablets the void between my cells hums
        ❧
endeløs
som en hospitalskorridor
denne landevej ...
jeg får en recept
på en tålelig dag

et det dét?
venten i en verden
af stille linoleum

over bakkerne kommer de
oktobers lysædende ulve

tabletter tomheden mellem mine celler brummer








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