Written and illustrated by Jens O. Magnussen
CONTENTS WINNER LOST 5 ALIVE 6 ADVENTURE’S BEGUN 8 READ 9 REMEMBER YOU 10 ONE STEP 11 DESPERADO UNCUT 12 SEING THINGS 14 SILENCE 17 MONSTROUS 18 FRAMED 19 A WOMAN’S TOUCH 20 CHARACTER 22 CARNIVAL 24 ASANA’S FACE 25 FAILED 26 YES, PLEASE 28 HIGH & LOW 29 TUG OF WAR 31 WHEN 32 TRUST 33 IF 34 DEEP 36 CONVERT 37 MAGIC 38 READING ANDRE GIDE 40 PLAN 42
EVERYBODY WILL HELP YOU DISCOVER WHAT YOU SET OUT TO FIND Bob Dylan
".. a sensitive poet deftly at work carving out feelings in a magic wonderland of possibilities". LENNOX RAPHAEL
Poetry and illustration by Jens O. Magnussen Cover text – Lennox Raphael Layout – Kenn Clarke © – 2017 – Jens O. Magnussen
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WINNER LOST His life slowly comes to nothing not in spite of but because of all his efforts to make something of it Unable to live the life he’s got he struggles for a life he will never get He can’t hear the sound of one hand clapping restlessly tapping his foot against the stone cold floor of achievement, power, success and more sex Impatience patiently wears him out, always thinking, what next? though the moment be the banquet of his desires of everything life requires Possible & impossible all tangled, Fortune and failure clashing unpredictably for neither to happen He cuts himself on sharp edges of seconds when minutes are too long to wait and hours tower over Heaven’s Gate For every right step he takes he gets closer and closer to the quagmire of fatal fulfilment Neurotic ambition is his one-way ticket to alienation and even the loveliest, wisest woman can’t bend his resolution I met him in poetry in politics in prison each time convinced when he got out this time he would get it right.
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ALIVE Saw an old woman in a long blue raincoat on a bench by a birch Three thin walking sticks between her lace-gloved hands: one red, one black, and one white with golden hearts She was very likely close to ninety, face pretty as paper-angels’ mouthing her last conversation of two weeks ago, eyes like shiny pearls sinking into aquariums of the past Wearing red stilettos of fair youth, dancing with the last tzar on his white yacht in Tallin Harbour, tapping her feet to a distant waltz, clinging to him as he falls, a humming sigh escaping her lips, his hands upon her tailored hips, his kiss a second on the cheek, enough to make her ankles weak She felt his hard on through her dress, You’re my gueen tonight, I guess, The moment’s romance vanished in a flash suddenly reducing her to trash, I could read her sweet lips, No! Love me more than you can ever show Now that my tiara sparkles bright in the dead of night I leave you to your tottering might
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A stony silence hit her like a fist, exactly where his purple lips had kissed those blushes to embarrasment, her admiration to resent his condescending smile too pale and lazy to beguile this modest beauty from a land edged by shores of sand, where elf maids meet at night in misty light Touched by her cobweb smile, I stood a while, then gently to her feet for Danubes in the street.
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ADVENTURE’S BEGUN Adventure’s begun loud and eventually even that luck runs out Adventure be torture, solution escape back to the ape and its alert attention to threats, next meal and a moment’s joy Oh boy! Leave all expectations and break out, bleeding on your fake horizon running as fast as you can over the blue sand of a midnight beach to a dolphin dip undet the tip of a sharp-set moon.
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READ When I read I eat Words Ignoring when I’m full wanting to pull every tenuous tinge of taste out of it’s flow not knowing what I try to know Most deliciously they silence my constant inner conversation talking themselves alive as magic trees towering high above the shrubbery of abandoned thoughts Where even throwing in solitude as stake in this gamble for wisdom won’t be enough to put two decent words together on my own Muse of creativity will remain this dancer in the mist that I missed kiss to kiss To find a needle in the haystack, all you need is a strong magnet or metal detector; To find the bed bug that bites takes more than a magnifying glass; But, to find that tingling thrill of more than language can tell you need a good book. When rusty words start to crack There’s no looking back Left with just bits and pieces of language trying to recreate themselves off the beaten track.
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REMEMBER YOU The bland beauty of your sweet little voice and coy swift smiles make me wanna run and hide behind a bookshelf of psychology, spiritual conmen and ghosts hide behind Freud, Crowley, and Scoobi doo - - - just to get close to you The moonlight in your hair sun in your eyes make me wanna care comfort your sighs and step out of the magic circle of admiration Read skin instead of books forget your looks The lustre of your lips The lovely sway of your hips The graceful way you move your hand when picking up a napkin or switching on the lamp of sleepless night makes my head spin my heart king The words you never spoke and those that made you choke I keep in an old vase where I used to put roses as a reminder that solitude is not just a law of nature but social future for more than a few looking at you.
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ONE STEP Man in power stands on you Step aside and watch him fall Remember his heavy boot on your neck, heed not his call Take your freedom without his weight, Spit out the bitter taste of his bait, Let him impale himself on history’s shelf Soon he’s but dust to be wiped away with nothing more to claim or say, Replace him with a parrot named Joe Will tell you where to go.
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DESPERADO UNCUT Following the trail of despair got him nowhere And although it boosted his energy, and broke his apathy, it was like walking with shackles on ankles, wires on temples There’s a door leading to nowhere though nowhere doesn’t exist; Everywhere is somewhere, his eyes insist, projecting images of all on the walls of his mind where even the blind can see that empty space isn’t really empty at all though it refuses to answer his call And, at dawn, even the deaf can hear what lies beyond the sun; but despair will never get him there
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He thinks, white lies tend to have a tint of grey casting shadows way past moments of their justification, Good intentions fading like twilight on cloudy days of doubts So, at random, and just for kicks, looking for soft spots and forget-me-nots and disregarding these secret tears he leaves behind, he always blurts out every scrap of truth to test his youth But there’s a door leading to nowhere, and safely home in his little private box, proud of his uncompromising courage, he’d face that greasy mirror feeling wild and savage About time someone blurts out the truth to him - - - but will he ever listen?
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SEING THINGS Devil in the bathroom seconds from her bed, steps behind the panel, gargoyles in her head, voice talk of war and woe in the chandelier, ghost putting on a show wishing he was here visible, solid waiting for a cry, haunting a feeling to let him die Cutthroat in the kitchen spicing up the fear, chilipeppers sizzling in pots of beer, goblins in garlic, scuffles in oil, trouble in the fruitcake all her joys to spoil Demon in the basement digging in the dark with his spade of flames for deepest spark in eyes of Satan, as he speaks the truth, monologues of horror from the planet’s youth when a baby grabbing for it’s toes never really knowing why and how it grows
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Hangman in the attic toying with his rope, says: time is up now, not a glimpse of hope, make your peace with the Lord of Light, put aside all shame, he knows you by sight, even by name Double at the front door leaning on the bell, claiming he’s got this secret to tell, and she yells, oh no, please go, I know everything you know, but he won’t stop, put his foot in the door: Think perhaps, I know more, If you let me in, I will tear you apart, scare you to pieces kill your art, bury it, as a child’s first pet under the appletree, set you free Remember, I was always the good ghost in the game, never to blame, I can go anywhere, learn to care for a lonely soul such as you, instep in her shoe.
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SILENCE I have but one word for you my greedy reader: SILENCE Listen to roars of thought, watch sparks of thinking caught in dim corridors of feeble imagination SILENCE So you can hear a timid tear fall on the dusty floor of unswept oblivion SILENCE So even the slushiest of sorrows can be heard melting under the rising sun of attention SILENCE For music of spheres to reach your ear-drums, when violins from Jupiter come singing across the universe SILENCE To let sleep be in healing dreams, recover from feelings, nothing’s for real but ever expanding moments of SILENCE.
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MONSTROUS The absurdity of evil This insane world Swirls of ruins in vain Palaces in pelting rain This triumphant curl on the devil’s tail murdering the weak and frail Wonder The things we do to feel deep and to unfeel mirages of Paradise lost to blindness Still there, always nearby luring us to its shortest song This smell of smoldering tires Or is it flesh? – hard to tell when the whole street is on fire This angry desire devouring every moment of satisfaction On its way Playing this deadly game where passion becomes weapon in the hands of terrified children and mothers mourn the loss of innocence that was never really there in the first place Just traces of a comforting tale soon erased Stuck with the sentence of no return, I turn pages of a burning book reading between the flames millions of names of those who died before they ever even tried.
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FRAMED She looked into my eyes kept her own concealed Looked straight through my lies her unrevealed Saw her picture on the wall and then it dawned upon me Her image so much truer than what she tried to be Walk on the winning side, She’d say Can’t hide your intent anyway Kiss my canvas lips with your fingertips Touch my brush stroke hair with the utmost care, I’ll know you’re there Turned around to meet her face to face Fell into her warm embrace Her bosom cushioned my skinny chest What a scary place to rest.
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A WOMAN’S TOUCH If you call this an unkissed kiss, I shall prick you and then lick you, ‘cause you’re sweeter than true, when you trick me into touching your glue Marilou, step out of this shoe Hurt’s what you pick up from dirt, tuck in under your shirt, a crippled bird, ripped by the claws in your heart, clipped by jaws of art Marilou, so hard? You insist, that I hissed, when I really tried, missed the magic, as I sighed once too much for the touch Marilou, let go of this clutch
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You know too much to tell, but no need to spell it all out, just yell your challenge against my knowledge, and I promise, It’ll bounce off right back in your hands Marilou, I knew your bands Simple songs of doing wrong belong to older men, who gave up zen for madness coming up in sadness on stalks thin and long Oh Marilou, Hold your tongue! Loveable chimera hardly getting nearer, words from far away, this is, what they say: sexuality of light distant as dead of night Marilou, you’re out of sight!
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CHARACTER Photos of parents on the mantlepiece indicates he didn’t just come into existence all by himself though that’s what he likes to pretend being nobody’s friend An envelope with a glossy kiss from the Order Of Flaming Lips shows that someone once was his On the corner of a large window he’d painted another window One to look through and another to look into Still a man of reverie Every letter in the word WELLCOME on his doormat is daintily dressed in pink lingerie His mansion was built for more families than one but his are all gone Now only present saying “cheese” to the photographer’s box But still no names No history’s frames The games he plays to stand apart from the crowd with his head in clouds of invisibility stand out loud and clear to she who calls him dear, Oh dear, dear me! That’s no way to be free!
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CARNIVAL Drink with me, she cried out loud, don’t be so high and dry, in this hot and sexy crowd release that sigh and fly, see the monster mind break down, feel it in your bones, no one hears your groans Dance with me, her voice was thick, read my ruby lips, through the raging blast of night and devils’ flaming whips Let go of selfish inner peace, it is not for real, easy for a girl to tease knowing how you feel.
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ASANA’S FACE She was Meryl Streep painted black and then turning white, so fast no one noticed Face of all shades between yellow and blue Never said please and her words would be true when not lies just to tease Didn’t mind with a mind of her own, never one to throw the first stone, Sweetness and threat in a witch’s glance giving freedom of choice a chance not to chose between the blues and the golden goose On screens of her cheek a lover sang, couldn’t speak his longing’s pang She washed him away with a single tear, got him drunk in a drop of beer, She’s Meryl Streep, lips so pale, talk no more.
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FAILED Her words shrouded in subtleties, sentences full of dashes, all ending: and so - leaving the listener with nowhere to go, veil of euphemistic hints, barely visible winks indicating complicity in chosen ignorance A soft smile buttered evenly all over her face is like looking into a cracked mirror of abandoned pride, a childhood hide-out full of trapdoors, fake walls and secret compartments for the bold to enter but no one to leave to tell Eyes drowning every flicker of light like ponds of despondency in muddy graves covering the tarnished treasures of joy once blushing on happy apple cheeks, sparkling as she speaks, now thrills dissolved, points revolved
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Hopes a crippled athlete’s carrying her ambitions of ambiguity as a birthday cake with just so many candles to blow out but no air for the last shout Once an elf-maid, she fell from grace to haunted haze through damaged looks and daring books reducing dream to this primal scream, that’ll heed her call, solve it all, and pick her up from the fall She timidly tiptoes into the sun Scared, she’ll soon be gone, melting away in a blinding ray, disappear in a boiling tear Dear, oh, dear, I think she’s near.
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YES, PLEASE Lasting love says, Here I am! Guess you knew I’d come Got my warning years ago and now’s too late to run All your fun will fade away for joy of solid gold, shining for ever on, so at least I’m told Caught in a distraction between free or (k)not you’ll act according to your parent’s plot Please don’t cry, I’m easy You can write your stuff, long as you remember I’ll call your bluff And don’t try to yawn me off See me in your dreams, where everything is just about exactly what it seems.
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HIGH & LOW On top of fantasy’s magnificent towers Don’t put crosses or crescent moons Put flowers and crimson lips kissing the sky Don’t wonder why their tower’s taller your God smaller Leave splendour in splendid isolation for all to find Deaf and blind Feel the phantoms of the oppressed drawing near appearing in a morning tear getting real loud and clear Level with liars to learn the truth Even high flyers lose their youth Devil’s dungeons right below everything you think you know Demons dancing on the stairs Hear them prancing See who cares.
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TUG OF WAR A secret wound of unreflecting understanding ready to rip whenever truth starts asking ruthless questions out of the dark Moments of clear light clarity left behind between twists of a twisted mind and sparks suddenly flashing up like God’s glance on piles of dusty letters only the blind can find buried in the murky heart of once a child Growling thunder over yonder another war on wings and wheels Flames mirrored in their eyes like souls on fire Sickening glimpses of grisly ruins yellow teeth in a monster’s howling mouth Butchered kids in ponds of mud Old man’s face black with sod Ten million tears in a single sob Billions crying stop While more civilians than soldiers die however hard bombers try Though many just don’t give a damn Oh this stench of scorched lamb Where transparency penetrates matter as matter crushes transparency absorbing all stray energy Till the hero says, why Do or die? If I try to reload my head will explode.
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WHEN When the wheel turns and fire burns itself out with lazy perfumes softening against a hazy sunset Just you and me, goddess of twilight I’m flesh and have to rediscover flesh thinks, has dreams of it’s own coexisting constantly confusing the surviver’s moan When thought grinds down a gullible mind to states of emotional mathematics, there’s just you and me, unobtainable goddess of broken hearts, where real dreaming starts You and me all alone in a slim canoe down rapids of mountainous hopes.
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TRUST She drew a purple veil over her eyes and left him standing there in a bluish haze wondering why he had to try so hard just to be seen She put plugs of yarn in her ears making him mute before her cute busy hands knitting his winter mittens She stepped out of stilettos stockings and skirt looking hurt saying, please rub my feet It’s tough out there in the street.
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IF If you knew longing teach me how to harden my heart against you Against illusions of false or true Give me one lying line against all your books of truth and I shall learn the secret of enlightened ignorance If you knew the child within let it stay within Don’t force it out to laugh with an old man’s face Don’t make it praise what it can’t enjoy being just an observant boy If you knew secrets burried so deep they’re almost forgotten being only part of your magic attraction dig them up gently with your bare hands Don’t use a spade or they may fade away completely.
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DEEP He has a miner’s mind drawn to darkness’ deep A digger’s dream gone for gold in his sleep humming the lowest notes of the bass melting away on it’s sombre grace Lives in a cellar, sleeps on the sub Loves when he doesn’t have to get up His favourite animal is the mole Knows it’s way through a hole to the ballroom below everything that grows Festoons & roots beneath his brother’s boots.
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CONVERT He wore a halo under his hat and the collar of a bat, smoke to hide his pointed smile and laughs to last a while Wore a bible under his arm, but there’s no cause for alarm, never read it anyway, didn’t tell him what to say Wore his wooden leg with grace, even won the cripples’ race, once a pirate, now a saint, paint his portrait, make it quaint Though he wears a Bishop’s ring, really doesn’t mean a thing, he just loves his jewellery memorizing cruelty Wears an air of haunted pride, watch his wisdom slowly slide down the skids of sloping truth to the pleasures of his youth.
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MAGIC He greeted me with a grim salute like I was already destitute of any human dignity facing his divinity I said, If you’re so big then stoop to lick my dirty toe clean to go Let me show you what I mean What no one else has ever seen I picked a glove up from the street Gave it wings, beak and feet Let it go and watched it fly high up in the singing sky Saw him shed a tear of pride as the clouds opened wide He said, Let’s suck the udder of the Milky Way Drink our dusty sorrows away Making magic out of lust while we’re doing what we must Leaving what gives no relief Living like an honest thief
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Well, shiver me timbers The man’s a pirate A full moon thug The Devil’s private, Pass me the key to his captain’s quarters Let me free his crazy daughters He screamed to my face, You leave them alone or I’ll turn you into stone! I said, Go ahead That would be a bliss I’m soft enough as it is Freeze my pacing mind Be so kind Let me be a door Want no more.
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READING ANDRE GIDE Coloured lightning Gold, pink, pale ruby flashing over Mayo Kebbi I got frightened of the word I But I was there Though never in person For no apparent reason the sun turned blue and the sky began to burn scorching every living soul out of the rat-hole of my brain praying for rain with a voice so dry every word said goodbye The earth started pounding like a heart in love under my feet And sweet scented fumes flew like revealing mist over reeling flowers
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Saw the future return to the past as an absent-minded professor who’s forgotten his keys and Mr. Present rush towards the moment’s perifery To make sure he’ll be the first to leave this bubble of fleeting joy Puff the magic stuff that mysteries are made of Puff Tragedies overcome to come Puff language eager to explain itself backwards Puff my facination with this Puff Well I’m a pipesmoker become invisible as a mute syllable in the world’s longest word.
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PLAN Planned to write about how friendship appears out of nowhere, lingers, deepens, disappears and occasionally reappears. How love, once lost forever beyond sentimentality and awkward chance meetings, is different in disposition and presence, and imbue these meditations in true stories not only reflecting but radiating the immanence of fleeting understanding. Planned portraits so sharp they’d cut the viewer’s attention to pieces just for tricks, Buddha in boots just for kicks. Planned to let go, have language re-invent itself and flow, bringing initial ideas alive all smooth and bright before two to twelve. Planned to take everything down from shelves, spread shirts, drawings, half envelopes, dried-out pens, books and CDs out on the floor and close the door to that room, leaving it so for at least a year. Planned a poetic account of the educational story of how I, the original Viking, learned the fine art of winter bathing from a poet and playwright and more from Trinidad, where the sea is lukewarm as a widow’s tub. Pure medicine of walking oneself hot through the forest and then jump into the salty freeze. Jeeze! Was never a junkie, but that must be the “rush”. Hush! Planned to elaborate on why storytellers have become increasingly boring to me. Maybe I am simply full from having read too many. Anyhow, let them have their fictional dramas, linguistic exercises and moral conclusions to themselves. They were there on my shelves beside the mirror. Planned a plan impossible to follow though easy to understand: checkmating all spirituality’s specifics and then having the whole game annulled, distinction between dim and clear revolved, perhaps a touch of Russian roulette, one won’t regret. Great reward! All hands on board! Going astray, forgetting what I was about to say and, ignoring choice, still saying it with someone else’s voice. Planned a sophisticated explanation of how excellence, with lyrics of joy and lamentation, abandoned any pretense of limitations as I play Mozart out of his wig on a plain Yamaha, jazzyfy, classifying bloodstreams of private songs. It’s a bluesy rain. Better close the window. Half corpse already facing infinity with shackles of fear round his ankles, planned to write about death and drew a line, where no line was ever drawn without being bent, broken or wiped out by water, storm, sun or the despair of trying to be The Line rather
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than any old line out for a lazy stroll down Ariapita Avenue, easily pocketing the Line of Lines boasting of continuation straight to the fading end of the universe against my thighs. Planned to point a finger and say, “Ecce Homo” without the faintest idea, what I was talking about, pretending every word comes straight from secret dephts of wisdom lingering below below. Planned to tell how I became Hood of Marion without having to prove my worth through a lot of daring deeds or other such foolishness, just cheering her up making her body sing. Planned to walk through walls out of mere curiosity just for fun, until I got sick of all the broken bricks and clouds of crushed plaster. From now on seing nothing new but knowing all about the action on the other side. Planned to scan a villain’s brain for traces of unselfish compassion, remains of the moral compass rescued from its trap of magnets. Planned to insert moods of uncertainty that would bring all evil plans to a stop. Planned to enter her secret dreams unseen and then remain there for years: only to realize there’s no way out and, strapped to a throne of flowers, dressed in huge, blue diapers with a gag of giggles between my teeth and a crown of fish bones on my head, I am trapped. And when I start to drool and cry she’ll show me her aviary full of magnificent birds, each one named after a lullaby sweeter than heaven. Planned to diffuse confusion dancing on its shadow. Dissolve it in a mantra of nonsense and walk it to simplicity under the green beech wood canopy. Breathe the stress pulse down to an affectionate full moon waltz on the terrace overlooking the garden of constant choice. Planned to cut through yellow grass of draught like a paper knife through chilled butter to richer soil of earth’s inherent spirit unspoiled right under dry roots and thirsty worms waiting for rain Planned to go looking for someone to refresh my memory as to when last time I actually did what I planned. Or not. Having planned such a lot.
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