Monday, 21 November 2016

A poem by the Norwegian Olav Bull


A struck-through poem

Caged-in a shoddy poem
from bars of strokes peers out.
Honest enough a fellow,
though hardly round and mellow
with song and tuneful clout.

Spawned by a skinny mother
a wizened brain its womb,
mere scraps of thought the fodder
that brain cells had on offer,
in meagre hours consumed – –.

And reason’s fearful migraines
the poem’s body rack –
by fever now prostrated
cracked lips reel off unsated
their ugly tuneless track.

Its bars of strokes it rattles,
its cruel cage it would force; –
it is my direst captive
though songs well-formed, attractive
through my whole being course.




No comments: