WE ARE NOT ABOUT TO HAVE A WAR
This here is a job for a man of greater intelligence.
Oh boy! All these politic matters!
I have finally decided to say something relevant.
But first I must stop gawking at waitresses.
There will be nothing bad in this poem.
There will be nothing bad in this poem.
(one should never repeat oneself
unless one has something to add)
There bad nothing in poem this will be.
He, who has the last word, is always right.
George W. Bush is a frankenbum (and the political matters drift along)
I ain't no goddamned cellular hybrid.
I am no lamb!
I have a soul!
The real American taste...
Oder
Ísland ögrum skorið
Es ist mir ein Wurst!
I hold to my bosom the fish guts
from a thousand fisheries and every single exported ton of Icelandic cod
but who cares about food?
When one has Culture! (he he he)
When you have a star-spangled woolen cap and a grand old codfish!
The best blend that can be made...
Halt!
I do no longer gawk at waitresses.
I have stopped gawking at waitresses.
I better get around to saying what matters, in the cosmic context of all things. I shall only touch on perfect generalizations.
In a standard chord the same notes are traditionally repeated, in different octaves.
We are not about to have a war.
When there are no longer new chords left unplayed, men like myself wish to ignore all chords, and in their place we wish to perform linear note combinations. In this matter we are absolutely mistaken. The most frequent chords are frequent because it is a part of music's nature to optimize its maneuvers.
I saw the best minds of my...
I am a cover-poet. I write other people's poetry. It isn't because I am a bad poet myself, not by a long shot. It is because I am not the best poet, and the best poetry has already been written (it is quite possible that better poetry will one day be written, but in that case I shall have to write that as well).
We are not about to have a war.
I ain't no goddamned cellular hybrid.
The real American taste?
I have a dick thank you very much you fucking whore!
Oh who will listen to the lonely mutterings of a soul? How loud can the echo of a man's navel get? How long will it be until my navel retaliates, answers all this gibberish that I feed it? Will say: "this is the end of the line for you buddy, I am not here to give you relief! My role is to gather lint, and nothing else. Stop your nonsense and leave me alone."
Wait, I got to gawking at waitresses again. It was seriously not on purpose.
A man's navel has spoken.
Well then. You are now situated on my prerequisites. We don't really have rules around here, but you better do as I say.
Tomorrow I might get tipsy and shoot myself in the foot.
A tad bit about other things that matter:
I do not believe that sincerity can ever conquer cynicism. I do, on the other hand, believe that cynicism can conquer cynicism, and destroy both of itselves. For instance if I were to say: "Oh? Aren't we cynical this evening!"
Precisely! Wasn't somebody saying something about possessing a soul? That somebody might want to watch out not to assert about things he just might not know all that much about, huh? Precisely!
Damn this cynical fool!
Modern bebop contains only predetermined licks. And for that reason, it is no more creative than, say, poetry. Mere reiterations. The nightingales might shut up once in a while, but you can be certain that they will begin again later. Nothing disappears. I know I am not alone in being amazed that Christianity and Dresden still exist, despite the obliteration of the city, and despite the fact that both the father and the son have been stoned and ridiculed. There are still people willing to write sonnets.
Well then. Let's take a break for thought. See if any of this works out. I contain multitudes... I can never contradict myself, not really. I am only capable of saying one thing at a time.
I am willing to admit that she might be a slut, but at least she's cute and willing to converse with me. Besides, she admitted that she's a slut. And then, you are a slut as well, so maybe you'd like to watch out a little and look around to see if glass-walls are caving in on you when you talk. I don't mean this in a bad way, I mean it in a really good way, but just watch out a little, eh? Or I'll go fucking apeshit. You get my drift?
We are not about to have a war.
The following periods are almost without meaning...
How does one go about suggesting to ones friends, if he (I) (they) should gang-rape someone? How does one hint at something like that? Saying this I do not mean to imply that I want to gang-rape anyone, but I am not saying the idea doesn't pop up once in a while.
At some point I promised I would only write about politics.
A tad bit about politics:
It has quite recently been brought to my attention that US authorities perform experiments with chemical weapons on living human beings.
I will let you determine for yourselves whether these mentioned human beings are Arabic terrorists in Guantanamo, or illegal immigrants in destitution, or Americans so damn blinded with nationalism that they just don't care. That is not in itself a matter of any importance.
A tad bit.
Clear blue skies (we are not about to have a war)
An intoxicating nocturnal silence (we are not about to have a war)
The lowering of taxes (we are not about to have a war)
National holidays of various countries (we are not about to have a war)
A sandbox-sieve (we are not about to have a war)
Clear blue skies (we are not about to have a war)
A calm, and the glassy pavement in a snowless winter still (we are not about to have a war)
An election dinner and cake-devouring and intelligent conversations about everything that matters (we are not about to have a war)
Wealthy Russians fondling breasts and learning how to behave (we are not about to have a war)
Smile at the Prime Minister, he is inflicted with a rather large boo-boo (we are not about to have a war)
Women burn their bras and therefore a few years later need to get implants to support their nipples (we are not about to have a war)
Then there's always the spring (we are not about to have a war)
You can survive the weirdest of circumstances, and if you manage to do it right you might even make money doing so (we are not about to have a war)
In a perfect world noone is forced to consider politics, in the future our congressional representatives will serve single terms of several hundreds of years (we are not about to have a war)
To beat a man in the head with all your might is not only silly, it is also a sport (we are not about to have a war)
A man walks into a bar...
[cough!]
Yes, precisely!
BLOODPUDDLE WARFLOWER BEATING OF BOMBTHROBS TRAPIZES AND BAYONETS AND LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M DYING TO YOU - DO NOT ACT AS IF I WERE YOUR MOTHER YOUR MOTHERS MOTHER - YOU WILL DO AS I TELL YOU AND WIPE YOUR NOSE ON EMPTY SLEEVES FOR YOUR FATHERLAND YOUR MOTHERLAND YOUR MOTHERS MOTHERLAND WE ARE PREPARED TO DO WHAT'S RIGHT/DO OUR SHARE BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY! SOON! MY HEART MEANS TO LEAVE AND I DON'T MEAN THE BODY BUT PLAY WITH MY BREATH AND HOPE THAT THERE WILL NOT COME ANOTHER SUNRISE WHERE IT WOULD INVEVITABLY BE DISCOVERED WERE IN THE NIGHT YOU THRUST YOUR PENIS - DON'T BE LIKE THAT WE ARE NOT ABOUT TO HAVE A WAR JUST LOOK HOW EVERYTHING DIES GO FETCH YOUR WEAPONS DO NOT BE CHILDISH THIS WAR IS NOT ABOUT TO HAPPEN GO FETCH YOUR WEAPONS THIS WAR IS FOR THOSE WHO GO FETCH THEIR WEAPONS THIS WAR IS FOR GERMANS WHO GO FETCH THEIR WEAPONS FRENCHMEN THIS WAR IS FOR SPANIARDS THAT GO FETCH THEIR WEAPONS THIS WAR IS FOR JEWS THAT GO FETCH THEIR WEAPONS GYPSIES GO FETCH YOUR WEAPONS DO NOT BE CHILDISH ARABS THIS WAR IS NOT HAPPENING GO FETCH YOUR WEAPONS FAROESE AND ICELANDERS AND LICHTENSTEINERS AND ESTONIANS AND LATVIANS AND LITHUANIANS AND FINNS AND DANES AND NORWEGIANS AND SVALBARDERS AND LET US NOT FORGET THE LATIN-AMERICANS AND FIDEL CAN PLAY AS WELL (finally we agree on something) THERE WILL BE NO BLOOD BUT THE MOST POISONOUS GATHERING OF ALL MILLENIUMS IN THE NATIONS MOST PSYCHOTIC GORGES THE RADIO WILL BE THERE TEN DANCEFLOORS BECAUSE THIS WAR IS NOT AT ALL HAPPENING AND TWENTY D.J.'S BECAUSE THIS WAR IS NOT AT ALL AND WE SHALL HAVE A TAD BIT OF NEUROTIC NATIONALIST COMEDIANS AND A TAD BIT OF FREE REFRESHMENTS PRODUCED BY NOONE BUT THE GOVERNMENT IS STILL BUYING TO CELEBRATE THE OCCASION AND WHAT CAN I SAY BUT LET'S JOIN HANDS BECAUSE UNITED WE STAND AND DIVIDED YOU KNOW WHAT ...
(it has recently been brought to my attention that with the right mixture of light and shadow things can be made disappear, just like that, as if someone clicked their fingers. I do not know how true this is, but sure enough I can corroborate that at times it definitely feels like something is missing).
Translated from Icelandic.
Original title: Það er ekki að fara að hefjast neitt stríð.
From the book Nihil Obstat. Published by Nýhil in 2003.
Oh boy! All these politic matters!
I have finally decided to say something relevant.
But first I must stop gawking at waitresses.
There will be nothing bad in this poem.
There will be nothing bad in this poem.
(one should never repeat oneself
unless one has something to add)
There bad nothing in poem this will be.
He, who has the last word, is always right.
George W. Bush is a frankenbum (and the political matters drift along)
I ain't no goddamned cellular hybrid.
I am no lamb!
I have a soul!
The real American taste...
Oder
Ísland ögrum skorið
Es ist mir ein Wurst!
I hold to my bosom the fish guts
from a thousand fisheries and every single exported ton of Icelandic cod
but who cares about food?
When one has Culture! (he he he)
When you have a star-spangled woolen cap and a grand old codfish!
The best blend that can be made...
Halt!
I do no longer gawk at waitresses.
I have stopped gawking at waitresses.
I better get around to saying what matters, in the cosmic context of all things. I shall only touch on perfect generalizations.
In a standard chord the same notes are traditionally repeated, in different octaves.
We are not about to have a war.
When there are no longer new chords left unplayed, men like myself wish to ignore all chords, and in their place we wish to perform linear note combinations. In this matter we are absolutely mistaken. The most frequent chords are frequent because it is a part of music's nature to optimize its maneuvers.
I saw the best minds of my...
I am a cover-poet. I write other people's poetry. It isn't because I am a bad poet myself, not by a long shot. It is because I am not the best poet, and the best poetry has already been written (it is quite possible that better poetry will one day be written, but in that case I shall have to write that as well).
We are not about to have a war.
I ain't no goddamned cellular hybrid.
The real American taste?
I have a dick thank you very much you fucking whore!
Oh who will listen to the lonely mutterings of a soul? How loud can the echo of a man's navel get? How long will it be until my navel retaliates, answers all this gibberish that I feed it? Will say: "this is the end of the line for you buddy, I am not here to give you relief! My role is to gather lint, and nothing else. Stop your nonsense and leave me alone."
Wait, I got to gawking at waitresses again. It was seriously not on purpose.
A man's navel has spoken.
Well then. You are now situated on my prerequisites. We don't really have rules around here, but you better do as I say.
Tomorrow I might get tipsy and shoot myself in the foot.
A tad bit about other things that matter:
I do not believe that sincerity can ever conquer cynicism. I do, on the other hand, believe that cynicism can conquer cynicism, and destroy both of itselves. For instance if I were to say: "Oh? Aren't we cynical this evening!"
Precisely! Wasn't somebody saying something about possessing a soul? That somebody might want to watch out not to assert about things he just might not know all that much about, huh? Precisely!
Damn this cynical fool!
Modern bebop contains only predetermined licks. And for that reason, it is no more creative than, say, poetry. Mere reiterations. The nightingales might shut up once in a while, but you can be certain that they will begin again later. Nothing disappears. I know I am not alone in being amazed that Christianity and Dresden still exist, despite the obliteration of the city, and despite the fact that both the father and the son have been stoned and ridiculed. There are still people willing to write sonnets.
Well then. Let's take a break for thought. See if any of this works out. I contain multitudes... I can never contradict myself, not really. I am only capable of saying one thing at a time.
I am willing to admit that she might be a slut, but at least she's cute and willing to converse with me. Besides, she admitted that she's a slut. And then, you are a slut as well, so maybe you'd like to watch out a little and look around to see if glass-walls are caving in on you when you talk. I don't mean this in a bad way, I mean it in a really good way, but just watch out a little, eh? Or I'll go fucking apeshit. You get my drift?
We are not about to have a war.
The following periods are almost without meaning...
How does one go about suggesting to ones friends, if he (I) (they) should gang-rape someone? How does one hint at something like that? Saying this I do not mean to imply that I want to gang-rape anyone, but I am not saying the idea doesn't pop up once in a while.
At some point I promised I would only write about politics.
A tad bit about politics:
It has quite recently been brought to my attention that US authorities perform experiments with chemical weapons on living human beings.
I will let you determine for yourselves whether these mentioned human beings are Arabic terrorists in Guantanamo, or illegal immigrants in destitution, or Americans so damn blinded with nationalism that they just don't care. That is not in itself a matter of any importance.
A tad bit.
Clear blue skies (we are not about to have a war)
An intoxicating nocturnal silence (we are not about to have a war)
The lowering of taxes (we are not about to have a war)
National holidays of various countries (we are not about to have a war)
A sandbox-sieve (we are not about to have a war)
Clear blue skies (we are not about to have a war)
A calm, and the glassy pavement in a snowless winter still (we are not about to have a war)
An election dinner and cake-devouring and intelligent conversations about everything that matters (we are not about to have a war)
Wealthy Russians fondling breasts and learning how to behave (we are not about to have a war)
Smile at the Prime Minister, he is inflicted with a rather large boo-boo (we are not about to have a war)
Women burn their bras and therefore a few years later need to get implants to support their nipples (we are not about to have a war)
Then there's always the spring (we are not about to have a war)
You can survive the weirdest of circumstances, and if you manage to do it right you might even make money doing so (we are not about to have a war)
In a perfect world noone is forced to consider politics, in the future our congressional representatives will serve single terms of several hundreds of years (we are not about to have a war)
To beat a man in the head with all your might is not only silly, it is also a sport (we are not about to have a war)
A man walks into a bar...
[cough!]
Yes, precisely!
BLOODPUDDLE WARFLOWER BEATING OF BOMBTHROBS TRAPIZES AND BAYONETS AND LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M DYING TO YOU - DO NOT ACT AS IF I WERE YOUR MOTHER YOUR MOTHERS MOTHER - YOU WILL DO AS I TELL YOU AND WIPE YOUR NOSE ON EMPTY SLEEVES FOR YOUR FATHERLAND YOUR MOTHERLAND YOUR MOTHERS MOTHERLAND WE ARE PREPARED TO DO WHAT'S RIGHT/DO OUR SHARE BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY! SOON! MY HEART MEANS TO LEAVE AND I DON'T MEAN THE BODY BUT PLAY WITH MY BREATH AND HOPE THAT THERE WILL NOT COME ANOTHER SUNRISE WHERE IT WOULD INVEVITABLY BE DISCOVERED WERE IN THE NIGHT YOU THRUST YOUR PENIS - DON'T BE LIKE THAT WE ARE NOT ABOUT TO HAVE A WAR JUST LOOK HOW EVERYTHING DIES GO FETCH YOUR WEAPONS DO NOT BE CHILDISH THIS WAR IS NOT ABOUT TO HAPPEN GO FETCH YOUR WEAPONS THIS WAR IS FOR THOSE WHO GO FETCH THEIR WEAPONS THIS WAR IS FOR GERMANS WHO GO FETCH THEIR WEAPONS FRENCHMEN THIS WAR IS FOR SPANIARDS THAT GO FETCH THEIR WEAPONS THIS WAR IS FOR JEWS THAT GO FETCH THEIR WEAPONS GYPSIES GO FETCH YOUR WEAPONS DO NOT BE CHILDISH ARABS THIS WAR IS NOT HAPPENING GO FETCH YOUR WEAPONS FAROESE AND ICELANDERS AND LICHTENSTEINERS AND ESTONIANS AND LATVIANS AND LITHUANIANS AND FINNS AND DANES AND NORWEGIANS AND SVALBARDERS AND LET US NOT FORGET THE LATIN-AMERICANS AND FIDEL CAN PLAY AS WELL (finally we agree on something) THERE WILL BE NO BLOOD BUT THE MOST POISONOUS GATHERING OF ALL MILLENIUMS IN THE NATIONS MOST PSYCHOTIC GORGES THE RADIO WILL BE THERE TEN DANCEFLOORS BECAUSE THIS WAR IS NOT AT ALL HAPPENING AND TWENTY D.J.'S BECAUSE THIS WAR IS NOT AT ALL AND WE SHALL HAVE A TAD BIT OF NEUROTIC NATIONALIST COMEDIANS AND A TAD BIT OF FREE REFRESHMENTS PRODUCED BY NOONE BUT THE GOVERNMENT IS STILL BUYING TO CELEBRATE THE OCCASION AND WHAT CAN I SAY BUT LET'S JOIN HANDS BECAUSE UNITED WE STAND AND DIVIDED YOU KNOW WHAT ...
(it has recently been brought to my attention that with the right mixture of light and shadow things can be made disappear, just like that, as if someone clicked their fingers. I do not know how true this is, but sure enough I can corroborate that at times it definitely feels like something is missing).
Translated from Icelandic.
Original title: Það er ekki að fara að hefjast neitt stríð.
From the book Nihil Obstat. Published by Nýhil in 2003.
posted by Eiríkur Örn Norðdahl at 2:35 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home