3 poems

Iztok Osojnik
Featured image: untitled © Amy Ronk 2019

 

i am sure you know the moment
after you just have written an excellent poem
and then because of a wrong key pressed on the keyboard
the poem is gone forever
not a very pleasant moment

one keeps thinking about ideas and images and emotions and nonsense
caught on a screen with such lucidity
it is impossible to go back as there is no back to go to
the chirping of birds under one’s window
overlooking the river below

the river will be there also in the afternoon as well as
in the evening and even during the night
its murmuring
will lull one into
dreams about love that there is not
are there any souls to be touched by the poem
and what if there are not

do we need an excuse or a reason to write a poem
it is not for a poem
to answer any questions
the poem that has been gone by now
the poem that was self declared a bad poem
by the way this poem is not any better
what does it mean to be better or worse or bad

the croatian poet tin ujević was
mentioned in the poem now gone
he was imprisoned by austrian authorities because
of his anti-austrian articles in the serbian daily papers
but sadly i have forgotten what i wanted to tell by that
the flow of the river as well the flow of the poem
follow their courses
even when they tell nothing
birds fly
but poems rest firmly on the earth
not always

§

this sensitive didactic poem needs correcting as it
does not lack errors and nonsense
i have buddha in my mind
as buddha has to do with living emptiness

no doubt this poem took a wrong turn
now it is on me to save it
and bring it back to disorder and chaos and
the banality of freedom not political but
of poetic indifference of words that do not care
do not care not to glare or
for a language used
to try to save a lost poem

is there a destiny
why good poems disappear and bad ones
helplessly try to hang on
to stand on their feet? do poems have feet
and poets do poets have feet? dreams that i remember
that i don’t remember them. It will be sunny in the morning but
already by noon cloudy followed by storms in
the afternoon, so it is possible to say
the weather is good, it is nice to walk around soaking wet
by the way it was dangerous to look into your eyes

great this music by beethoven overtaken by passion
and love for countess erdely
her cellars were famous in vienna for excellent white wines
no wonder beethoven became deaf
he never realized it
as he went on hearing
deep within himself
burning music of his last four string quartets
with wilderness in his eyes he approached the conductor’s podium
but after the initial sounds of the first violin
he was gone and me with him as well

dear countess barbara von erdely

§

a lie here and there
makes one’s image of oneself
more pathetic. it feels like a hot chili pepper on two legs
walking down the street
on a sunny day with saxophone music in my ears
and drums beating hard
and yearning for who knows what as love definitely
does not offer any answers. i put a hat on my head
and use my sunglasses as protection against the heroin
bliss of the open sky over that city
i was meditating on godot, the guy who had never come
and it was all smiles on my face all smiles
though there was no harbor, no empty docks of brooklyn
no lisboan steamers entering and leaving the port
under the watchful eye of one of the fernandos pessoa. and there was my
whitmanian ode to the hudson river,
i was leaning against the railings, feeling
the immense force of the river, the coldness of its waters
its indescribable flow. i was literally spaced out
and i needed badly to find a place to piss
it is difficult to find a free toilet in new york
one has to buy at least a cup of coffee just to piss
but at times you do not feel like buying coffee and
to piss but just to piss and to lean against the railings by the hudson river
and to breathe ecstatically
as the river and the city would not belong to the reality anymore,
and later or even before, when i walked the shores of the river further on the north
contemplating the mighty waters standing beside the grave of hannah arendt
or overlooking the river from the top of hook mountain
it has been always there, an immense flow of silence
an anaconda of freezing cold waters of the north
and i wrote an ode to it

that kind of guy
 

Amy Ronk is a photographer currently based in Denver, Colorado. “As someone who has struggled in the past with finding perspective in day-to-day life, I aspire to communicate the need to stop and appreciate the details and bewilderment of the natural world through my photographs.”