Yoshimi ruster opp

Til min 25-bursdag gir E meg en bok skrevet av Graham Oakly. Den heter “The Church Mice Spread Their Wings” og er en barnebok fra 1975. Den begynner slik:

Humphrey the Schoolmouse had been reading again, and one pleasant afternoon in Wortlethorpe Churchyard he began to lecture his fellow church mice. “We have become victims of the Rat Race,” he told them, “crushed by the Pressures of Modern Life. Our nerves are being torn to shred in the Mad Struggle for Survival.” At this moment, everyone went indoors for tea.

E får noen rare blikk fra andre i det jeg åpner denne gaven og fniser. Det får så være at de ikke helt forstår denne. Men det er en super gave. Det er noe E har… Les mer

Speak out.
And a vast paranoia sweeps across the land
And America turns the attack on its Twin Towers
Into the beginning of the Third World War
The war with the Third World
… Les mer

Dette.  Dette er en av diktene det tok meg lang tid å like.  Første gang det ble lest for meg, tenkte jeg omtrent “nja… ferdig snart, eller?” men det har nå gått over, og selv om det tok sin tid er jeg i grunnen glad for introduksjonen til Edward Estlin Cummings.  Dessuten er det noe med amerikanere som ikke bruker store bokstaver i diktene sine.  So; here we go:
i carry your heart with me
i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my… Les mer

Carol Ann Duffy ble utnevt som Englands Poet Laureate i mai 2009. Jeg lurer på om de angrer nå som julen kommer, og hun slipper løs en politisk variant av  12 days of Christmas, som tar for seg politiske problemstillinger fra Afghanistan til klimaforhandlinger i København.
Første verset ligger på nett og ser slik ut:
“On the first day of Christmas,
a buzzard on a branch.
In Afghanistan,
no partridge, pear tree;
but my true love sent to me
a card from home.

I sat alone,
crouched in yellow dust,
and traced the grins of my kids
with my thumb.
Somewhere down the line,
for another father, husband,
brother, son, a bullet
with his name on.”


Well done Ms Duffy, I say!
… Les mer

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
… Les mer

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I’m not going
to let anybody see
you.
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pur whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he’s
in there.
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody’s asleep.
I say, I know that you’re there,
so don’t be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he’s singing a little
in there,… Les mer