Haiku / senryu
To ease my mind and remind myself to look at the world with fresh eyes, I spend some of my spare time writing haiku and senryu poems. I write the poems in longhand to distinguish the activity from academic production. The quickness with which a poem appears on the page, and the many silent moments that follow as I revise and rethink keep me engaged, while it never becomes tiring. I shift between writing in Danish and English depending on my mood and surroundings.
On this page I publish the ones I am most fond of.
Rotting sidewalks melt
feet laid bare by autumn.
Clouds rippling. Sun.
Drowned worn-out stone pounds
through bones slung forward, vapours
of colour's decay.
Utter still silence
never heard over breath, blood,
life. Noises at night.
Movement even
in still darkness, particles
fall silent, unfelt.
Weightless yet heavy
the dust of a million years
never settles long
And the dust of you,
my skin, will land on future
bodies remembered.
Perfect moment here
of meaningless sound, somewhere
muscle memory
Stray limbs entwined
in non-rythmic cacophony
Nobody dances
Vinden suser i
øret helt uden øjet
ser bort fra solen
Fortids dansende
blade nu ubevægede
trods stormbrust skumring
--
Støvregn i modlys.
Træk vejret og farverne.
Verden død på ny.
Cool sun rolls over
autumn-afternoon stillness
Silent wind wanders
Crispness of leaves
taken in through eyes not
interrupted by sound
Still branches moving
past windows bombarded by
indoor sounds of fear
Mægtige hvælving
Himmelskal, Jordblomme. Æg
uden rugemor
Sol, dag, lys glider
over mit ansigt. Fastspændt
bevæges jeg. Du?
Tiden finder sted
i støvets afkroge; her
er livets smuler
Blå overtrækssko
minder om alt, vi ikke
dagligt træder på
Old familiar
manic day-break owl, foreign
Rhythm of sleep and death.
Drowsy-eyed Pater
smiles in circles; mirroring
Comfort consumption.
Habitually
Drunk on afternoon spritzer
Ritual apathy.
Frantic voice, don't look
sun glare, holy volcanic
water, you island!
Looking across from
Radical strangeness, the world
Coordinated.
Solitary birds
in flock.
How?
En trille på tværs;
igen; ved mundingen en
genstridig korkprop
Anstændigt klædt blandt
nøgne dødninge; kødet
helligt, paradis
Blandness of Christmas
Utter still grayness, punctured,
Flash of sudden red
Snow insistently
Present, though everywhere screams
Silently absent
Black dirt, harbinger
of calm death – like retreat from
colour, sound of world
- as if expecting something
more than existence
"Give my mum a hand!"
The singer screams, desperate
Drunk, trembling, smoking
momentarily parted
grounded double bass
In spite of myself
I let the jazz creep under
My skin leaving yours