Master and Servant

Poem By Hendrik Jackson

the shallow breathing of power: took the throat out of us
(wheezing) on the pink painted planks (quality equipment:
over. done with.) drove us into the open, circumnavigators we
became servant masters, master servants. (standard lamp)

grasp the net: lurching seaside blue ('the hairy one')
eye-catcher: a good dolphin (its back, behold, by the new
light, its white belly) the fisherman chews (in blood and
coveralls) the chains, the rattling chains in close-up

for our benefit over the winch, with the winds (nietzsche)
prattling on: come on, come on take a break, breath-
less: this whistling over vast expanses: wind clasp (heart-)

strapped fast: a slow thought: there are emblems (whoa:
perseverance (death) - ) there are (wet) pictures in the brain yet,
static animal stares in the calendar, flaking off into the spray.

Translated by Nicholas Grindell

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I

draught up our sleeves from the side wind, tiredness suppressing
a few half words, we moved into the colder frost-air by the rear frontage
of a distant building, a couple among the houses, at night

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travels? voices? (buzzing wires) - on landing you looked: heavenwards
in flight perhaps you belonged to the inventory of the world, in the child's
eyes.

Background noise

rain made for itself its sea and the sea its waves, clouds
swelled over the white spray of the sea - light tones -
and like dust on the tape track everything mixed in together
the voices, whispering, emerge from yesterday, from its

Soil

Moments of crystallization, flow with the day. Frost _ Inhale
again the dream collapses, overwhelmed from affections
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Note on Jonah

the word that does not come to pass -
and yet, we do not go into the immanence
of a big-bellied, dark, barely
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Picture Postcard to O.M.

I live within crumbling walls of medieval crudeness.
On the washing lines hang remnants of Slavic cloth.
No Hellenism warms me; the stoves here are fuelled
with low-grade coal; verily, ye horseshoe hangeth