3 haiga

 

 

days of being wild (in moderation) - haibun

and I hear this faint rhythm in a sharp note just about to me out of my range of hearing like someone throwing small small stones on the floor which is why it's not that precise or even and I mute the tv and close the window so I won't be disturbed by the neighbour's goldfish pond it must be leaking a hose spits water into it day and night

too weird I've been watching 3 films by the Hong-Kong director Wong Kar-Wai or Kai-War Wong whatever and typically me I watched the 3rd of this (unintended?) trilogy last and I got sorta annoyed by the main character and his arrogance lack of empathy eating and throwing away women and so on which probably was part of the director's intentions that guy just hung around all day in a humid Honk-Kong getting money from his adoptive mother and obviously not being capable of appreciating other feelings than his own ennui … well what the heck

and I manage to locate the sound it's from the computer in the other room playing a tabla solo by Zakir Hussein I was reorganizing music on the mp3-player and must have clicked on something and no the rain in Denmark doesn't fall in teentaal

it's title days of being wild suggested something other than this slow lazy film with wonderful camera work and long scenes full of rain and a decadent young man hanging indifferent on a sofa lying on a bed or combing his greasy hair while a scorned girl was screaming somewhere in the tiny apartment as dirty as … but I guess it's a cultural difference or a bit of irony it's a great flick and it wasn't the last time I watched it

as usual I can't decide what to leave on and what to replace I go for jazz fusion and Indian music that's what I listen to after all and next time I sit on a train listening I'll probably think it's a totally boring selection if I know me (which I'm gradually getting better at)

so I went to the low-prize supermarket just around sundown to get a few things I forgot the first time and there behind the counter the spitting image of the actor the spitting image I tell you I was just about to say Hey fantastic movie but I didn't

gravitational pull

a photon sticks

to my cornea

red eye

Betelgeuse is never

on stand-by

a bite of heaven

abide a bite of heaven in a toothless mouth

you don't have to answer but have you ever thought about that what we're doing when we do stuff is filling out the time of waiting before enlightenment and moksha and seeing that we were born and now we have to got through all kinds of motions and moods and heartbreaking or toe-wringing events like holding a girl in the hand though all your pals think girls are stupid

abiding a biting off the far corner of paradise

but you find out you really like girls of almost all varieties but you still haven't the biology to know 'what to do' with them (there it is again: DO! DODODODODO) and you a vague feeling that this could be something that would make the wait bearable and years later you know you were right

yellowing lacewing Chagall's goat plays off key

and you end up seeing through things and that what you do between birth and death is just making time pass in the least inconvenient way but that takes some practise and you're a slow learner you didn't die young though you had all the chances to so you decide not to be in a waiting position/mode any more but do something worthwhile life is more than waiting it's also grabbing hold of it ceasing the day and so on

low sun cars pull up for the Friday dance

and you grab the phone to let your nearest and dearest know but they're not picking up it's 3.30 AM and you dig out a cigar you bought last Christmas the one where you didn't snow in and smoke in peace

half a moon the folks downstairs fight over the dog

and ... a haibun sequence

the goat is shaved smoking 'neath the blue moon

it's the kind of life when you put your leather jacket on as the second thing the first is searching through the ashtrays for a dog-end you can light without burning your nose

an umbrella of jelly-fish the heavens stay in place

and you get a call from an animal welfare organization wanting your money under the - faulty - pretext that you like animals pets and such and want your sausages to have had a good life before they become part of the food industry

your cobweb heart someone didn't tell you

and you finally get up and find some real fags and while the kettle boils you check the table for dead insects they choose to end their lives in the night leaving you to pick up the pieces and you wonder why they are so hard to love unlike cats and dogs and hamsters and

unsafe floor a fleeting god escapes the rain

and despite your efforts objects never stay in place not the ones you need to and not in the places you put them and pouring water on the ground coffee a voice on tv talks about the rain you see out the window

autumn a million beetles digging canals under your skin

you can still blow smoke rings even though the missing moles make them a bit more floppy not as firm as your exhaled smoke used to be a coffee ring on the book you've given up on

through the tear duct your innermost worm is passed on

and you have this la-la insight that you don't have to kill yourself life will do it for you boredom suffocating on emptiness nailed to the floor by bad decisions you name it and a little bird bumps against your window with a thumb and you have cigarettes and coffee and what more my soul

haiga book

I uploaded a book containing an experiment with black and white images and bilingual ku to issuu
Read it here

Quadruple parallel

(some) self-medication

self-medication I lie down on my shadow

in the lonely-chair a hollow crow is the oracle

self-medication an ocean at the end of my (yellow) finger

the steps in the gravel towards noon

self-medication one step sideways at noon

a rusty screw-driver picks my locked places

self-medication the rain the rain rains

not at all as I … brushes yet to be cleaned

self-medication spirits white or black just spirits

on days like this the train can be heard

self-medication Astrud's “coração” repeated

we did curve once now even more

another dream self-medication as a mud-ladder

by the end of the day wet paper on the eyes

New book

"Paper Bell Lesson / Papirklokkebelæringerne" is now available in print at CreateSpace eStore: https://www.createspace.com/4317382 

In a week's time it'll be available at Amazon too


Free dowload/read (e-book)
Scribd

Issuu (flip book)

coins - a haibun

Coins

dans les bras de Morphée a kiss evaporates

While I'm looking for a camera that would enable me to film some living coins a hitherto unknown nephew starts building a house around me. It's not that I was out in the open before he began. I was going around my business following this idea of making this film of actually living coins, two I found in a drawer. They weren't alive when I put them there some 20 odd years ago, but apparently something happened in the meantime. My wife (she is my wife in this dream) is in a room I cannot see looking for a job. It's mandatory. She has to to get unemployment benefit. In the dream as in real life. Obviously it's not her dream.

closed ice-cream shop

we queue up

for nothing

It takes me quite a while to find the camera. I know what it looks like (and it's nothing like a camera, more like a cheap microphone from the 70's; that's dreams for ya) but I can't find it. It's that feeling: you know what the missing thing is, what it looks like, where you think you have seen it, where you put it the last time you used it, what the drawer/box/closet/cupboard smelled like. But it just isn't to be found. Gone, it is.

I began looking for it in my usual flat surrounded my the usual mess but as nephew X was building the flat became a house and the house was now in the city and not in the village I live in. More and more family members and friends I haven't seen for years began walking around in the house. They all wore summer clothes and drank their preferred drink from plastic glasses. At least my sense of season is in sync.

3.47

that's when

the blackbird

starts singing

At long last I find the damn camera but then the house is full of people I'd rather spend time with than with coins, alive or not. The dream-nephew finish his work by painting all the walls white.

hot morning

a couple splits up

beneath my window

chant/work song/mass-line - experiment

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

 

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

one red aphid

in a cloud

They spend five and twenty years on all kinds of studies to predict what eternity might look like. Radio telescopes, giant stethoscopes, X-rays and plastering it over with ultrasound gel, sonar pings, paper aeroplanes, waxed swan’s wings, tin cans wrapped in tinfoil and ... you name it.

of
green
aphids

Having done what they could and assumed what was reasonable they reached only one point of agreement, one thing they could say with 75% certainty: eternity is pale green and has thick carpets. Two points on which they could agree.

my fave
is the red one

Thursday
I put my hammer to work
on Livjatan

some haiga

Published in Note from the Gean 21, July 2013

Published in Note from the Gean 21, July 2013

New book / Ny bog

 

My book of bilingual linked hariku: ”notes 10 11 -12 / noter 10 11 -12” has been published by Yet To Be Named Free Press.

”Here, at its best, is Bjerg's unique ability to jump effortlessly from mythology to everyday life. A book of haiku that modestly tips its cap to traditional Japanese literature, while remaining authentically Danish throughout.  It is the perfect companion for the imagist stranded on a desert island. ”

Brendan Slater, writer and publisher

--*--

Min bog med lænket haiku i to sprog: "notes 10 11 -12 / notes 10 11 -12" er blevet udgivet på Yet To Be Named Free Press.

"Her på sit bedste, er Bjergs unikke evne til at springe ubesværet fra mytologi til hverdag. En bog med haiku, der beskedent tipper sin kasket til traditionel japansk litteratur, men er ellers autentisk dansk. Det er den perfekte ledsager for en imaginist strandet på en øde ø. "

Brendan Slater, writer and publisher

http://www.yettobenamedfreepress.org/2013/07/notes-10-11-12-johannes-s-h-bjerg.html



My own Intro:

The poems in this book may have the outer appearance of the haikai linked forms “rengay” and “yotsumono” but they don't necessarily follow the “internal” rules of said forms and they are written by one person and not by several. I merely took the structure of these as a skeleton on which to hang these somewhat diary-like notes written during the months of October and November 2012. Reading them again I see the dynamism of outer reality in dialogue with my inner ditto - my mind processing impressions from various sources scattered across time. Said in another way: it's just me sitting in a couch in Kali Yuga jotting away ...

--*--

Digtene i denne bog fremstår måske som de lænkede haikia former ”rengay” og ”yotsumono” i den måde, de fremtræder på, men de følger nødvendigvis ikke de ”indre” regler, som ligger i disse, og de er skrevet af én person og ikke af flere. Jeg brugte blot strukturerne som et skelet, som disse dagbogs-agtige noter fra oktober og november 2012 kunne hænge på. Når jeg læser dem igen, kan jeg se dynamikken i min bevidsthed mellem den ydre virkelighed og den indre ditto - min bevidsthed, der behandler indtryk fra forskellige kilder spredt ud over tiden. Sagt på en anden måde: det er blot mig, der sidder i min sofa i Kali Yuga og skribler …