Hedgehog men

 

dailymail.co.uk photos WorldWarII

 

 

 

 

He sent me a photo and he had
a chin like a hedgehog. He said
“You can kiss me as much as you want!”
“Oh thanks,” I said in fear. “Yet I don’t!”

 

Il basio (The kiss) by Francesco Hayez 1859

Il basio (The kiss) by Francesco Hayez 1859

 

 

 

 

 

Han skickade mig ett foto: han hade
en haka som en igelkott. Så han sade
“Du kunde kyssa mig så mycket du ville!”
“Tack,” sa jag, “men hellre en annan kille”.

Bibi Johns, former singer, former pianist Alex Racec, pianist. They met when she was 67 and he 27 and were a couple for 12 years.

rose, white

 

 

 

 

 

 

rose, white

 

 

 

 

The key to love and affection will never be without attraction. Age differences are not about wrinkles or saggy old bodies contra firm and young bodies. What culturally define an attractive and fashionable man in common eyes differs more over the decades than the fashion and beauty ideals  for women.

An unshaved man’s apperance in a movie during the 40s to the 60s told us without word this was a  slob that lost the grip over his life. The last 20 – 30 years it’s the straight opposite: this image show a man who is successful in his life and with an excess of self-confidence in his bag.

50s

Audrey Hepburn born 1929 and Gregory Peck born 1916 in the movie Roman holiday from 1953

But if you was young or brought up during the 50s you got the old fashion eyes for what attracts you to a man. Bibi Johns on the image above with her younger partner, was born 1929 and I was born 1949. Even with that age difference we are both culture fixed in the same time ideals what a good looking man looks like. I think Bibi Jones was lucky to find her lover in a time just before every young man around 30 has a stubble chin, because when we were young, that look was of an untidy slob. If Alex Racec would have had such a chin, he would never won the lady’s heart, I’m sure. (Bibi Johns represent “the lady style” from the 50s  but I never had that style  as I was young woman in 70s. But still, born in true working class I never fancy or had any sloppy looking boyfriends on a date…)

But now 70 but still twenty years younger than Ms Jones, I’m not that lucky when it comes to romance a younger man. (Yes, that situation has actually occured in my life too!) I know of course what my problem is: beauty is in the viewer’s eye. I try to change and update my views, but I’m just too old to fancy such a chin…

But even if I try to deal with it – what I never can deal with is the effects on a sensitive skin by kissing a hedgehog man.  You may think 3-day stubble look is incredible sexy… But whatever you think of the scrubby look, this outcome on a woman’s face you can see on the pic to the left  is not okay! It’s called beard burn – and it certainly hurts and burns for days. So no, I don’t want such kisses… Do something about it, man! (If you want me!)

I have done some research online and this is apparently the fashion for men today up to a certain age (men over 60 still looks like unshaved slobs with this look)  and not many admit the problem with beard-burn. But I found on and athletic site a guy who actually admit this bad consequense for the female partner and recommended fellow men to try a softening hair conditioner in shower. Maybe it helps, at least couples need to work for a solution. It’s okay to be stylish – and you can do and be whatever you want as long you not harm others…

 

BODY SHAVING!! What the f**k is that on a grown man: it would be like kissing a smooth baby butt! 😦

What an age-eyed cultural damaged woman like me more have problems with of the nowaday fashion for men is that phenomenon body shaving. Only the thought to have sex with a man smooth as baby’s skin is repelling…! I happens to experience that line of hair from a man’s navel down below the waist of the jeans very sexy. A man’s hairy legs is hot in bed, it turns out so well with the soft skin of my inner thighs… But what about born with a chest with no hair, or with just too much off it? Well, if nature is that unfortunated with a poor guy, I certainly can love him anyway. Love and sex is more than fashion looks…

The problems with a large age difference in a couple relationship are not so much about the differences in the present time, but about values, the fashion ideals and the music taste that you once grown up with. It’s printed in your skin as tattoos.

Gizzelle

Gizzelle (I found a love) (Youtube)

By the way, I can’t stand either today’s fashion with tattoos on the both sexes. (In Sweden today it is so common in the younger generations that it is not tattooed is the rare.) No risk for any amorous feelings from me there! But I cannot understand that it is allowed for healthcare professionals to have their bare arms covered with such ugly and tasteless decorations. When any such person will treat me in the near future, I will refuse to allow him / her to do so. Simply!

(But I love the tattooed singer Gizzelle and her version of “I found a love” ) (to be found on Youtube!)

 

I became 70 years in April this year and it feels as strange as it would be to wake up one morning in the wrong body, like being a woman and discover having a thing “down there”, that should be not on me but on the other one – the one man I dream about to share my bed with.  Aged and/or old fashioned or not: you never get too old for the need of love.

(Yet, now at the end of this post I suddenly realize that with this subject of hedgehog men, I have actuallty written myself into my right age: I am really an old-fashioned aunt, stuck in old ideals from earlier decades! Oh but excuse me, I think I need now a soft soothing kiss…)

movie 50s

Autumn leaves 1956, Joan Crawford and and Cliff Robertson

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Posted in about writing, aging, Attraction, authenticity, changes, create life, culture values, inspiring movies, inspiring music, life and love, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, prose poem, reading life, rebellious lovers, relationships, sexuality | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Microscopic notices in Swedish medias “Microscopic remains of Nazi victims buried”

Beerdigung in Berlin von NS-Opfern

 

VideoSpäte Würdigung für NS-Opfer
http://www.stern.de/panorama/video-spaete-wuerdigung-fuer-ns-opfer-8708712.

“Berlin buries prisoners’ tissue kept by Nazi-era doctor”
http://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-48215894

This doctor’s name was Hermann Stieve. He was active until his death in 1952 and he was never charged for his dealing with the executed prisoners’ remains.

A quote from the BBC article: “The anatomist’s use of the prisoners’ corpses had been kept almost in plain sight, because he kept meticulous records of his work. He had a particular interest in reproductive anatomy.His work was some of the first research to suggest that stress – in the form of being sentenced to death – could disrupt a woman’s menstrual cycle.”

BBC quote: “He then dissected them for research, before discreetly cremating and interring their bodies anonymously.”

 

 

 

Monday May 13, 2019 the bodies of 300 female resistance fighters got their last respect in an ceremony.

BBC quote again: “In a statement, Dr Karl Max Einhäupl, CEO of the Charité, said the burial was part of an effort by the hospital to confront its – and German medicine’s – difficult relationship with Nazism.”

“By burying the microscopic specimens at the Dorotheenstadt Cemetery, we want to help restore to the victims some of their dignity,” he said.

 

 

 

Below:
/www.dailymail.co.uk/news/berlin/index.html

Microscopic remains of Nazi victims executed and dissected by Hitler's scientists 70 years ago are buried at a Berlin cemetery

Microscopic remains of Nazi victims executed and dissected by Hitler’s scientists 70 years ago are buried at a Berlin cemetery

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hermann Stieve on the photo above was  (according to  Wikipedia) elected in 1940 as a foreign member number 799 of the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hermann_Stieve

https://sv.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gösta_Häggqvist

 

 

 

information.www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/25017735
(NCBI: The National Center for Biotechnology Information advances science and health by providing access to biomedical and genomic )
“Swedish-German contacts in the field of anatomy 1930-1950: Gösta Häggqvist and Hermann Stieve”.

 

 

 

We have a lot in our Swedish history that is not tasteful but seldom talked about.

It’s surely  a nice feeling-good movement to play the righteous nation in the world, but the historical reality within our borders is more complex than that.

Every Swedish newspaper no matter if small, had a short notice about this burial. But I just think Swedish TV and Radio Sweden too should have paid this cremony some respect by reporting about it. But of course – radio and TV public education is to serve us SOMA spaced drinks, to let us comfortably sink down  in our big deep armchairs in our Brave New World. (?)

 

I refer in the last sentence to Aldous Huxley’s novel “Brave New World” (1932). “Soma” was the drug served the citizens to keep them in order.

Posted in authenticity, cultures, darkness, garbage, human rights, living in the world, morality, poems by vonnely, politics, reading, reading newspapers, sacred, Swedish "culture", Swedish souls | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

I met him on the internet

the internet meetings

 

 

 

 

Aubrey Beardsley (1872 –1898) Isolde

 

I met him on the internet,
and that is something I will always regret.

He had pics of sparkling eyes, a lovely smile.
Charmed, I was thinking I will chat for a while.

But soon he covered my every waking hour
and he took away from me all my power.

Once I was a lonely woman but now I was his queen.
We were both trapped in front of the computer screen.

Two weeks later he wanted to marry me.
But I said, we just have met, wait and see.
He told me then “for me it’s you or no one,
I’m a serious man and I never do any for fun”.

And you will see, come close on the internet
is something you can’t regret and not forget.

But our first call on phone revealed a boy’s voice,
video calls alike as a younger brother’s lack of joys.

Then, two months on the edge with him planning his life
and telling me all about his love and about me as his wife.

But I became depressed of less love, more of verbal abuse.
I broke up and he told it would kill him as he was of no use
without me and if he no longer would have me in his life.

And then he said to me: coming close on the internet
is something you will always regret, you not to forget!

Therefore I want to tell you about become close on the internet:
as it surely can be something you will regret, “you not to forget!”

We say the same thing, but we all say it from different angles
and we don’t mean the same, yet remember none of us are angels.

 

Posted in create life, life and love, loneliness, loners, love story, morality, online romance, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, romance | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

If I could talk to you

 

And if I could talk to you, I would tell you
I’m not happy for this either. But you and
I and talking was never good and it always
went from bad to worse. And I had to end
us hurting each other. There was no other
way but to throw you out of my life. Now,
what more to share? Tears of missing and
grief, far from love? But you had no tender
feelings for me, was only interested in your
own feelings! What is left to miss? Feeling
small and sad and unhappy, entangled into
a relationship of mutual verbal abuse? No!

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in alienation, armed loneliness, borders, heartache, loners, loss, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, sadness, surviving, talking, unhappiness, with or without you | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

She wants him differently and he wants her as she should be

woman on a motor bike

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She’s his first love, he told her.
He is a pain in her ass but she
can’t tell him and thereof she
feels like she’s a burning bush
in a blinded desert. You’re my
woman now, he said, you’d tell
me your intimate dreams. She
said, I am my own and I decide
what I tell or not and to whom.
She wants him differently and
he wants her as she should be.

 

 

 

 

Posted in create life, life and love, love poem, morality, paradigms, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, rebellious lovers, relationships | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

A bird in hand (Spring rain, pollen season)

 

 

 

 

When walking home from the grocery in spring rain this last Friday afternoon, I saw all the pollen floating on the streets down the drains and sudden from nowhere I came to think of the Swedish proverb “Better a bird in the hand than ten in the forest”.

Because all the little birds in the wild and free sings lovely here in this my new living area, far from colonies of magpies there I stayed before, just half a year ago.

But the bird I got in my hand this spring crows, despite he is a very young and lovely man,  like an old chained magpie from times back before.

And lately he always turns me down every day, as blaming me for thinking bad about him, whatever is. And I certainly not think well about that his doing. Because these days I begin my days in good mood, but then I talk to him and I become framed with shit from his innocent young white breast.

Every relationships has its ups and downs, he then told when I object. Now know people, this is an online romance and we two lovers have known each other for about two months only, so whatever to say about that – we certainly moving fast to the bitter ending up!

So to all his eager talk about meeting in real life, I just told him last “save your money”, and he said “what do you mean, you always thinking bad, you know I am a serious and hard working man and all I want is to make you happy, so what do you mean by that?”

I can’t say anything so he understand me, so I say nothing but I think in my mind I should change and restrict my settings on my online Profile. And keep ten birds in the forest and hold my hands free from chains in my private life. And think of a happy future on my own.

Because I hear the birds in the woods sings lovely and I know the air there is clear and fresh and one can walk and breathe freely. And I can see where I walk in this day’s spring rain the annoying pollens floating on the streets down the manholes – to be forgotten about until next spring.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(The English version of this proverb is “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush”, but romantic minded I like more the Swedish one.)

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We try to talk

We try to talk to keep it going
but we’re not doing it so well,
I miss so much to sense your
body near mine, not so much
about sex as a severe longing
to feel your presence here and
no words can tell us about that

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Couple talk

 

 

 

 

 

 

My lover thinks it’s better to say “ok”
than to argue. And “ok” is, according
to him, what he say and “arguing” is,
according to him, what I do! It is just
too much for any woman to endure!
Yet, I’m a white rose with a pink pen.

Posted in life and love, love poem, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, talking, words | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

What you deserve is not always what you get

Haven’t you forgot something, I asked.
No why, he said. I said, it’s my birthday
today! OMG!, he said, happy birthday to
you and I love you and I wish I was there
now to celebrate you! Well, I’m used to be
alone, birthdays and all other days, I said.
But you deserve so much more, he told me.
I said, what you deserve is not always what
you get. He had not an answer to give me to
that, so I went to take a shower and wash my
hair and it was still early and yet very much too late.

Posted in afar, armed loneliness, create life, loneliness, loners, online romance, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

At 70!

terrace at Villa Angela, Taormina

Vid 70 har man samlat på sig berg av
illusioner, förlorade, återvunna, återfunna.
Livet går vidare, javisst! Men själv har man
nått sin vägs ände och går inte längre med.
Och sedan då alla dessa berg som skymmer
den fria sikten till ingentings frid och fröjd!

At 70, one has gathered mountains off illusions
lost, recycled, recovered. Life moves on, sure! But
you yourself have reached the end of your road and
follows no more. And then all of these mountains that
obscures the free view to peace and glee of nothingness!

 

Posted in aging, create life, loss, old age, poem in Swedish and English, poem in Swedish translated to English, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, reading life | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

A link to read poets in different languages, translations and originals

 

 

 

 

https://www.lyrikline.org/en/home/

 

 

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Aubergine (eggplant)

 

 

 

 

 

 

I like to read. Not as much as when I was a child and a youngster and wanted to escape the lonely feeling of being an outsider in the world, but still today – the library is where I go if I go somewhere.

I like to read poetry. And I like to write poetry (at least I imagine my writing is poetry and even good poetry). I like short stories, but I haven’t written any. But I really wish that I could. I like to read crime stories. But I have not committed any crime. Well, I’ve at times got a pen with me home that wasn’t mine. But nothing more serious wrong than that ( I hope).

And I like reading cookbooks, but I really don’t enjoy cooking so much. Especially not from read recipes. But cookery books can give me ideas – well yes, if I remember them, then in the kitchen … (But I don’t!) Anyway, I like to read them.

There is a Swedish cookbook that I have borrowed several times at the library during the years.

The book is titled Sultanens Auberginer. Recept och matminnen från hela världen. (The sultan’s Aubergines. Recipes and food memories from all over the world.) The writers are Stina Katchadourian and Sabina Ståhlberg. The book was printed 2003. I don’t think the book is to find in other languages than Swedish and I’m sure it’s not to find in a book shop. But it can be find at a local Swedish library or ordered from it.

The dishes are exotic from many different parts of the world but traditionally in the sense that the book is based on a diet that contains meat dishes. And the two authors have an “open-minded” attitude that I definitely not share:

(Page 131) “In international contexts you have to strain your own prejudices. Even things that you really don’t like you should sometimes taste, otherwise you insult your hosts who might have invested a whole month’s salary at dinner. It’s just to swallow. .. “

For example, the authors write about eating dogs or insects in China … and I’m quoting from the same page “But what makes us think that it is so disgusting, scary or awful? Habits, values, feelings. What applies to us is what we have learned is eatable.”

I totally disagree in their opinion. I’m a vegetarian and it is more than “values” in that. And if a host would be insulted if I wouldn’t appreciate his efforts to make a dish with meat and refuse to eat it? So be it! What is worst, to insult a guest by force him/her to eat something against beliefes or to “insult” the host by say a polite “no thanks” and explain why? There is no respect to a host in being dishonest to him or her and eat what you find uneatable and disgusting. But it is of course my view.

An example from a book:
Is it respect to accept the pride hospitality of “poor Peruan” Indian’s making a dish of a boiled guinea pig, as that’s all he has? The poor one? I would rather go hungry, even if be rejected out to a lonely jungle danger – thrown away from the house welcoming fireplace. Yes, I mean it seriously.

Guinea pig! Just look at it!

Imaging!

 

So why do I like this book and borrow it over and over again when the recipes are not in my taste? It is for the small talks and all the little humorous stories in between the recipes, that I find so entertaining!

And even as being a vegetarian, of all fruits and vegetables the  aubergine is one of  few I don’t like to eat. Yet my favourit story in the book is about aubergines:

Sultan’s eggplants (page 25 in the book translated by me)

One day when Sultan Mahmud was hungry he was served aubergines. He liked them a lot and said:
– The eggplant is excellent food.
A courtier began to praise the dish with great eloquence. When the sultan had eaten enough and became tired of the dish, he said:
– The eggplant is very harmful food.
Whereupon the courtier began to talk about the eggplant’s harmfulness with even greater eloquence.
– But my good man, said the sultan surprised, haven’t you just sang the praise to the eggplant in every tones that can be?
Yes, my lord, replied the courtier, but I am your courtier and not the aubergine.

 

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Tom talks to my young suitor

 

He think I’m weak and he think I’m fragile, yet
he cling to me harder than glue. I want to die
with him inside me, but I don’t know if I ever
will be able to live with him out in this world.
I dream about him every night and that must
be something, yes! But it is so much harder
to be awake and try to talk to him!

I must be free from all voices and opinions and ties and
everything you want to believe is reality, to go deep into
my silence, to hear what is my own voice and truth.

I didn’t dream about my young lover last night but
about a faded and grayish album cover from which
a worn Tom Waits talked rough to my guy. He said
raspy “Don’t you get you bore her to lose her, what’s
wrong with your male mind, young man?” I woke up
in a good mood with my mature body well-rested.

Posted in about writing, aging, authenticity, desirers, dreamers, dreaming, fatigue, life and love, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, relationships | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Tired!

 

I heard a tune on Youtube and wasted my morning
with reading some Swedish song lyrics, the younger
generation. It is that tiny but constant hope to find
something that is genuine and heartfelt. But no?

I said to myself, everyone cannot be geniuses.  Ok!
Yet no doubt the young have skills to do something
of what they have, making a living of it; faking it.

And I slept gray for the rest of the day.

(Forget your young guy who never gets it right!)

But I got a bad dream and I guessed it was because
I want to dump him! Oh, at first he made me sleep
so beautifully! But then he told me his wet dreams
and it ended that beauty!

Yes, life in its simplicity is far too complicated. I think so.
And I find experiences as suffering and longing and hopes
are best in songs to share with others. Happiness and joy
and such are for the real and private life, not so much to
write about. How get around? As I want him (something!).

Anyhow, I wish he had been real stuff! But I guess I’ve to
be happy if I can make good lyrics of a not so good man.

I never asked him “have you lost your common sense how
to talk to a woman?” I just said “I’m tired” and “good night”.

Posted in about writing, Attraction, authenticity, desirers, dreamers, hope, love story, morality, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, reading, relationships, romance, with or without you, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

What do we do now? (A Danish saying)

Marilyn Monroe and Clark Gable in the movie The Misfits 1961

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The way in which a man never speaks to a woman about certain things! And she,
panties halfway off, what a blanket now discreetly covers, her heart and all that’s
hers on ice! Gives the fuels to her extinct saying, “what do we do now, little one?”

 

Danish “Hva’ Gør Vi Nu, Lille Du” = English “What do we do now, little one?”

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All I could write was because of you

A tribute to all (female and male) muses that give the romantic poets the ink in their pens

(An attempt to translate “L’encre de tes yeux” by Francis Cabrel to Swedish and English. I’ve put the Swedish translation first as I like it most to be the best one, but just scroll below and you can read in English.)

Eftersom du och jag aldrig blir vi
Eftersom vi var galna och ensamma
Eftersom de är så många
Även moralen talar för dem
Jag vill ändå berätta för dig
att allt jag kunnat skriva
var det jag tog från dina ögon

Jag insåg inte att du hade dina band.
Förtrollad av att se på dig glömde jag mina
Vi drömde om Venedig och om frihet
Jag vill trots allt berätta för dig
att allt jag kunnat skriva –
ditt leende dikterade det för mig

Du kommer att vandra länge i mina drömmar
Du kommer alltid från öster där solen går upp
Och om jag så en gång skulle glömma dig
Jag vill ändå berätta för dig,
att allt jag kunnat skriva
länge bar doften av bitter saknad

 

 

 

Because we will never be together
Because it’s crazy, because alone
Because they are so many.
Even the morals speaks for them
I still would like to tell you
that all what I could write
was what I took from your eyes

I did not see that you had your bonds
Looking too much at you I forgot about mine
We dreamed of Venice and of freedom
I still would like to tell you
that all what I could write
was what your smile dictated to me

You will be walking for a long time in my dreams
You always come from the side where the sun rises
And if I ever will forget about you
I still would like to tell you
that all what I could write
will for long have the scent of regrets

Francis Cabrel  L’encre de tes yeux

Puisqu’on ne vivra jamais tous les deux
Puisqu’on est fou, puisqu’on est seuls,
puisqu’ils sont si nombreux
Même la morale parle pour eux
J’aimerais quand même te dire
Tout ce que j’ai pu écrire
Je l’ai puisé à l’encre de tes yeux
Je n’avais pas vu que tu portais des chaînes
À trop vouloir te regarder j’en oubliais les miennes
On rêvait de Venise et de liberté
J’aimerais quand même te dire
Tout ce que j’ai pu écrire
C’est ton sourire qui me l’a dicté
Tu viendras longtemps marcher dans mes rêves
Tu viendras toujours du côté où le soleil se lève
Et si malgré ça j’arrive à t’oublier
J’aimerais quand même te dire
Tout ce que j’ai pu écrire
Aura longtemps le parfum des regrets
Posted in about writing, inspiring songs, poem in English and Swedish, poems, poems by vonnely, secret love, sentimentality, translations by vonnely | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

You fill my dreams with desires!

 

Du är inte ett dugg trevlig, men alldeles för svår!
Men ändå får du blodet att rinna ned till mina lår,
och för att säga sanningen, också vad där emellan.
Uttröttad snubblar jag och faller på mina egna tår,
men du och jag? Nej fan, det ska då till mera sällan!

(translated from Swedish)

You are not at all a pleasant guy, but a real nut!
But still you get my blood to flow down to my butt,
and telling truth, also what is in between my thighs.
(Exhausted, I stumble on my feet fallen for a tomcat!)
But you and me, really? No hell, that would not be wise!

 

 

 

 

I Must Be Dreaming, Lyrics: Willy Deville

Posted in Attraction, dreaming, hope, love poem, poem in Swedish translated to English, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, romance, secret love, sexuality | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

An angry man

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An angry man stands at the corner waiting for me; his arms crossed
over his chest. “I’m ashamed of you” was the last he said to me. But
his English is not good so maybe he meant “I’m ashamed of myself”?

But from what he has showed me from before, that is hard to believe.
Yet “believe me!” was a phrase he rubbed and rubbed me with, again
and again and then once more and all of the time.

After a few weeks of strong amore like that, I’m worn out and I feel like
I’m fading and choking. “Frankly my dear” I could tell him, “I’m too old
for a passionate love on the edge of life or death!”

That was what he used to tell me “I will die if you leave me”. Well, I’m
leaving and when I pass him at his corner I will also leave him the link
to a good undertaker. Because he is simply too much for any woman!

 

 

 

 

 

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A romantic dream in color


I heard it said in the old days it’s rare to dream in color. But I now read on the web it’s rather the opposite? I don’t know if it is true or not. My dreams usually vanish from my memory as soon as I wake up, so what they were about I only vaguely remember, and if they were in color – I’ve no idea!

But if I at any rare occasion dream in clear color, that dream has a big impact on me and I remember color dreams longer and stronger than others. Newly awake it puts me in a good mood. This can of course be due to that it often annoys me when my dreams slip out of my conscious control and thus the opportunity to reflect on them.

(I find dreams interesting to reflect on, but I have no interest in any fanciful symbolic or psychoanalytic interpretations, that is far away from my mind and way of thinking.)

Recently I had a colorful dream in pink and as it felt so strange to me when I woke I suppose such dreams doesn’t happen so often (to me). The specifically with this dream was it seemed to be only the ending of the dream that was pink: the dream – whatever it was about and whatever if it was in color or not – it ended a two- dimensional image of brightly shining pink roses that gave me a feeling of pronounced wellbeing. I remember well the two-dimensional embodiment of this image as well as its beautiful and strong color.

The other night I had another dream in color. In the dream, many people were gathered to a big feast of some kind and all were dressed in traditional folk costumes in a very clear red color. In reality, these kind of specific folk costumes that I dreamed about are usually adorned with jewelry and needlework of various kinds. But not in my dream. The suits were very simple and the dream only showed a lot of people dressed the same. But no specifics of the individuals, just groups of people moving around.

The dream were separated in two parts. In the first part, a young woman was walking on a road among others and she was on her way to meet a certain young man. The (brown) road ran between (very) green hills and lots of those traditional costume dressed people (so very red dressed) came flowing down the hills to the road in groups, all with the same goal as the woman: towards a city ahead.

The young woman, who was me but still not me, looked around for her male friend. But she couldn’t see him in the crowd of people. At a couple of times she thought she saw a glimpse of him: tall and slim and dark-haired; but no – it was not him! So she continued to follow the stream of people. But she was not one of them and she was not dressed like them.

Coming to the city (here was a leap in the dream to the second part of it) she went into a house and walked from room to room, looking for the young man she wanted to meet. In every room were many people gathered, all from the same clan or family. In a corner in one of the rooms she went through stood a group of men in dark clothes (and not red but black), looking like mafia types. One could feel they were dangerous and bad people. But they as well as all others only looked at the woman but let her passes on to the following room, not bothering her at all in her search. I had the feeling that everyone knew who she was, but that she had no connections to these people – except for the young man she was looking for.

As she continued to yet another room, I could now see her shape from the back. And I could see she was young, slim, gracile and straight-backed and walked with a princess’s dignity, integrity and moved unaffected between the people that she passed. She wore a full-length dress, so much I’m certain of and I got the impression that the dress was made in some discreet and little shiny greyish lavender-colored fabric.

When she had went through all the rooms without finding the person she was looking for, she returned the same way through all the rooms, now disappointed and with her head a little down. I looked at her, but at the same time I was her. I was her but yet not her, but I felt what she felt – and now the dream become to be permeated of a very strong and intense feeling of deeply sad grief.

I woke up from the dream in this intense and overwhelming sadness with tears in my eyes. But what was left after the grief melted away were the memory of all the red costumes and the very green hills. So despite the sadness in the dream, afterwards it was a “feel-good” dream because of its colorfulness.

So what was the dream about? Well, I know a young man who would say if he read this “oh, that’s about me” and he’s welcome to think so, I bid on that! But I know it’s not about him. It is about a romance that has not yet begun (or that has almost started) and about which one can predict – without being an omniscient unconscious dream director – it will run out into nothing… Still a strong and beautiful dream that gave courage to my soul. 🙂

 

 

 

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Play it again, Sam!

 

I said: Sam, see you in Casablanca!
And he shrank to a boy’s voice in a
phone with a lousy connection and
vanished in the night. Now it’s late
and I’m running out of time, but still
I’ve that last dream. I’ll go to sleep –
alone as always and wake the same,
seems to remains until one morning,
always coming too fast, when I’ll be
carried out feet first, dreams to dust.
Sam as I once knew, dreamed of me
as I about him to join in Casablanca.
Oh, it’s just the same old song about
love and a man and a woman, lost in
the flow of time. But I’ll wait for him!

 

 

 

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Pink dreams

She could hardly sleep at all last night and
yet she woke up at four in morning, went up
for coffee and checking internet, then quick
back to bed to sleep and she woke up again
after two dreaming in two dimensions image
and in color: pink roses and she simply can’t
get that sweet smiling man out of her mind!

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Know me

John Bauer Prince without Shadow

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
He said
Let’s not talk about the past
I don’t want to
I said
I come to your bed with my body
and with my NOW and my PAST
All that is me I put in your hands
in all the trust you asked me for
How can you know me
if you don’t want to know my life?
How can I know you?

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Black or white, Edith Södergran

Edith Södergran (1892 – 1923) is a Finnish-Swedish writer and she was a pioneer in the Scandinavian literary modernism in the early 1900s. She never got not much fame for her poetry before her death, rather the opposite. But she knew her greatness. She got tuberculosis at the age of 16 and died of this disease only 31 years old.

Edith Södergran’s preface to the poetry collection Septemberlyran (September lyre) 1918

That my writing is poetry no one can deny , that it is verse I do not want to claim. I have tried to bring some reluctant poems under a rhythm and thereby found that I possess the power of the word and the image only under full freedom, that is, at the expense of the rhythm. My poems are to take as careless notes by hand. As for the content, I allow my insight to build up what my intellect in restrained posture views. My self-confidence relies on I have discovered my dimensions. It behooves me not to make me less than I am.

Förord till diktsamlingen Septemberlyran: “Att min diktning är poesi kan ingen förneka, att det är vers vill jag inte påstå. Jag har försökt bringa vissa motsträviga dikter under en rytm och därvid kommit underfund med att jag besitter ordets och bildens makt endast under full frihet, d.v.s. på rytmens bekostnad. Mina dikter äro att taga som vårdslösa handteckningar. Vad innehållet vidkommer, låter jag min insikt bygga upp vad mitt intellekt i avvaktande hållning åser. Min självsäkerhet beror på att jag har upptäckt mina dimensioner. Det anstår mig icke att göra mig mindre än jag är. Förf.

 

 

 

The translations of the poems here below are mine and not meant to be copied and spreed.

Black or white

The rivers runs under the bridges,
the flowers glows by the roads,
the forests bends soughing to the ground.
For me is nothing more high or low,
black or white,
since I have seen a white-dressed woman
in my beloved’s arm.

Svart eller vitt

Floderna löpa under broarna,
blommorna lysa vid vägarna,
skogarna böja sig susande till marken.
För mig är intet mera högt eller lågt,
svart eller vitt,
sen jag har sett en vitklädd kvinna
i min älskades arm.

Forest lake

I was alone on sunny beach
at the forest’s pale blue lake,
in the sky a single cloud floated
and on the water a single island.
The mellowed summer’s sweetness dripped
in beads from each tree
and in my opened heart ran
a little drop down.

Skogssjön

Jag var allena på solig strand
vid skogens blekblå sjö,
på himlen flöt ett enda moln
och på vattnet en enda ö.
Den mogna sommarens sötma dröp
i pärlor från varje träd
och i mitt öppnade hjärta rann
en liten droppe ned.

The stars

When the night comes
I stand on the stair and listen,
the stars swarm in the garden
and I stand out there in the dark.
Listen, a star fell with a sound!
Don’t go out in the grass with bare feet;
my garden is full of shards.

Stjärnorna

När natten kommer
står jag på trappan och lyssnar,
stjärnorna svärma i trädgården
och jag står ute i mörkret.
Hör, en stjärna föll med en klang!
Gå icke ut i gräset med bara fötter;
min trädgård är full av skärvor.

Posted in about writing, armed loneliness, copied lyrics, create life, inspiring literature, Poem in Swedish, poem in Swedish translated to English, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Traces from the 1960s and March 2019, sounding in a contemporary poem (Algeria)

Photo Thomas Lepori Onceafewmonths

Tomas Tranströmer

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tomas Tranströmer’s poem “Om Historien” (About History) from the poem collection “Klanger och spår” (Sounds and tracks) published 1966

I
En dag i mars går jag ner till sjön och lyssnar.
Isen är så blå som himlen. Den bryter upp under solen.
Solen som också viskar i en mikrofon under istäcket.
Det kluckar och jäser. Och någon tycks ruska ett lakan
långt ute.
Alltihop liknar Historien: vårt NU. Vi är nedsänkta,
vi lyssnar.

I
One day in March I walk down to the lake and listen.
The ice is as blue as the sky. It breaks up under the sun.
The sun that also whispers in a microphone under the ice cover.
It’s lapping and ferments. And someone seems to shake a sheet
far out.
Everything looks like the Story: our NOW. We are immersed,
we listen.

II

Konferenser som flygande öar så nära att störta…
Sedan: en lång darrande bro av kompromisser.
Där ska hela trafiken gå, under stjärnorna,
under de oföddas bleka ansikten,
utkastade i tomrummet, anonyma som risgryn.

II

Conferences like flying islands so close to overthrow …
Then: a long trembling bridge of compromises.
There will the whole traffic go, under the stars,
under the pale faces of the unborn,
thrown out into the void, anonymous as rice groats.

III

Goethe reste i Afrika 1926 förklädd till Gide och såg allt.
Några ansikten blir tydligare av allt de får se efter döden.
När dagsnyheterna från Algeriet lästes upp
framträdde ett stort hus där alla fönster var mörklagda,
alla utom ett. Och där såg man Dreyfus’ ansikte.

III

Goethe traveled in Africa 1926 disguised as Gide and saw it all.
Some faces becomes clearer of all they get to see after death.
When the daily news from Algeria was read up
a large house appeared where all windows were darkened,
all except one. And there one saw Dreyfus’ face.

IV

Radikal och Reaktionär lever tillsammans som i ett
olyckligt äktenskap,
formade av varann, beroende av varann.
Men vi som är deras barn måste bryta oss loss.
Varje problem ropar på sitt eget språk.
Gå som en spårhund där sanningen trampade!

IV

Radical and Reactionary live together like in a
unhappy marriage,
shaped by each other, depending by each other.
But we who are their children must break us loose.
Every problem calls out for its own language.
Go as a track dog where the truth trampled!

V

Ute i terrängen inte långt från bebyggelsen
ligger sedan månader en kvarglömd tidning, full av
händelser.
Den åldras genom nätter och dagar i regn och sol,
på väg att bli en planta, ett kålhuvud, på väg att förenas
med marken.
Liksom ett minne långsamt förvandlas till dig själv.

V

Out in the terrain not far from the settlement
lies since months a magazine left behind, full of
events.
It ages through nights and days in rain and sun,
on the way to become a plant, a cabbage head, on the way
to unites with the ground
Like a memory slowly turns into yourself.

 

 

 

 

Comments:
The Swedish poet TomasTransstömer is said to be enigmatic. I don’t experience him like that. But in this poem, written in the 1960s it seems truly so. For me, it is especially verse number V that is difficult to fully grip.

What I’ve found out is: André Gide traveled in Africa in 1926 and wrote after coming back home to France, critical articles about the French colonialism in Africa. The “Dreyfus affair” was a major legal scandal in France in the early 1900s.

I don’t understand the connection between Goethe and Gide. But a key to understanding this verse (and the poem at whole) can be the Swedish common saying often used “Historien upprepar sig” translated word by word “The History goes again” meaning “The History repeats itself”.

During the 1960s when this poem was written, a rebellion and a bloody war took place in Algeria, where the colonial power of France showed horrific violence against the Algerian people. Common people in Algeria still remember this war and the murder and assault from France and the Algerians still hate the French without forgiveness. The wounds have never healed.

Right now, there is an uprising in Algeria triggered of the upcoming presidential election, that was supposed to be in April. (It’s now postponed indefinitelye.) Every Friday after the prayer gathering, large and determinded and peaceful demonstrations take place. Met by riot police, as one can imagine.

 

Last demonstrations in Algeria on Friday March 15, 2019

 

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(Mind matter) Märka ord

Märk nu mina ord, jag besökte er ett tag,
men var verkligen aldrig där: ett vingslag
mot din kind i natten, du rös till litegrann.
Vi bor i Sverige men lever i världen. Våra
tankar borde vara såsom svalor i skyn en
dag om våren och inte släpas ned i tunga
leran; att så sällan slungas högt och fritt.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Label my words, I visited you for a while
But was really never there: a wing stroke
your cheek in the night, you got a shiver.
We dwell in Sweden but live in the world.
Our thoughts should be like swallows at
the sky a day in spring, not pulled down
into clay; so rarely raised high and freely!

 

 

 

 

 

You don’t have to love me. But you must have
love in your hands. When I walk barefoot over
your meadows, I want to be welcome to come
at your wayside: we sleep under the same sky.

Du behöver inte älska mig. Men du måste ha
kärlek i dina händer. När jag går barfota över
dina ängar, vill jag bli välkommen att komma
till din vägren: vi sover under samma himmel.

Summer dreams, Aldo Luongo

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Freezing night, glowing heart

 

 

 

 

 

Poem by Karin Boye living 1900 – 1941, my translation for private use only

I gladly stand here and freeze at a street below
for to see those two windows at a gable glow.
The one who lives in there is to me very dear.
I get sick in my heart, when it shines there.

I want to go to the corner, I want slowly return
so I might can get a glimpse of you, that I yearn
That you are so close… Why am I standing here?
I get sick in my heart, when it shines there.

 

 

 

 

 

Tillägnan 14

Jag vill gärna stå på gatan här och frysa
för att se två fönster på en gavel lysa.
Den som bor där inne är mig mycket kär.
Jag blir sjuk i hjärtat, när det lyser där.

Jag vill gå till hörnet, jag vill långsamt vända,
så att jag får se dig skymta fram kanhända.
Att du är så nära… Varför står jag här?
Jag blir sjuk i hjärtat, när det lyser där.

(from the  poetry collection Härdarna 1927)

 

Daniel Lemma, Swedish-Ethiopian singer and songwriter, born in 1970

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

See also my post “On May 31 1941 it was too late for Margot” Posted on 31 May, 2017

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And Sam said

 

And Sam said “Lady, you shot me” and
he fell back and hasty he bled to death,
still in his 30s. Soon 70, I walk my way
slow and oldish as life and people have
hurt me hard but haven’t killed me, yet.
Now another spring comes dirty melting.

I observe how a caretaker rakes gravel
and withered leaves on a wet and rainy
parking lot that I cross over on my way
to a near supermarket. He is in my poem
now with his rake, but he doesn’t know.

Yesterday the sidewalks were nicely dry
and clean. At the same parking lot a wind
blew oak leaves in hectic rustling circles.
The leaves whispered hoarse and excited
in their last dance. Today they are soaked
and silenced, raked into piles and cleaned
away like dirt with gravel and sand.

I want to hold every moment in my tenderly
cupped hands but constant pains and saved
sorrows distracts me and I lose my sight and
forget. But I still remember how Sam shouted
“Lady you shot me” shamefully bleed to death.

 

 

 

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I will see coltsfoot flower this year too

 

 

 

 

 

I have been sitting at my desk today for hours
waiting for the blessed words to come to me.
But my words seems to have ran out through
my door with him who said he would love me
“forever”. I talk about him who said he wanted
to come to me IRL but never did, now he never
will. I don’t know much about what is coming.
But I know now that “love forever” lasts pretty
precisely two and a half year. I also know that
even if it is just one of the first days in March
and today is cold and snowy, I will see coltsfoot
flower this year too. And I dare to believe that
my words and love will come back to me again.

 

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Adonis’ speech


 

I gave her my heart and she sliced it
and spiced it and fried it and show it
to the world to view and to consume.

Since I’ve fled the battles she gives me
bad names but my name is Adonis and
my heart is pure and true, although it’s
changeable as the seasons. As love is!

But what is it that women want, I just ask!

 

 

 

 

 

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When the passion is gone

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When the passion is over you thank your lucky stars
for being able to cross the wasted land for fresh water
without get a headshot from your ex beloved. There is
a road on the other side of your misery, but the trick is
to get there without bringing those sacks of bitterness.
Ravaged meadows behind you, but you breathe freely –
still alive! You say to yourself “Never more!” Know then,
once you’ve eaten the love apple your heart demands it
again. Your eyes are now enslaved headlights to catch
someone to love. And we all want to be seen and loved!

 

 

 

 

Swedish translation in summary:
Din; kärlekens lilla loppa
vill alltid upp och hoppa!
Sant!

 

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Away from standstill (her ticket to a better life)!

 

 

 

 

 

 

He dumped her today!
The birds sings out: She’s happy!
The wheels moves again!

 

 

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Sprouting spring retreat (Spring springer bort)

Våren springer bort
kylan är tillbaka och det
snöar och ingen älskar mig
idag, jag går tillbaka till sängen
för att vakna upp till en annan dag

Spring runs away
The cold is back and it’s
snowing and nobody loves
me today, I’m going back to
bed to wake up to another day

 

 

 

 

 

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The bitter taste of a depressed man

 

 

 

 

He said, why would I make friends
when people are just fake, I’m lost
in a fake world, I’m 34 and my life
is over. I said I just got a headache!

I woke up too early next morning still
with a headache. I felt sad for me and
for the poetry he had lost grip on in his
life. Him off, I felt both relief and grief,
because I had come to love him a little.
Despite a lot of vinegar in his dressing!

And now afterwards I can still see him
in my mind walks the streets in the city
of Nowhere. Knowing no one and feeling
like no one and counting all his bruises.

Did he ever bother to see me? Maybe he
has simply now made me to yet another
tearing and thorns in his jacket and soul?
Wonder, will he ever get out of himself?

Although he rejected people he had to
marry, he told me, as it was “expected”.
I said no one forced him to. He asked if
I wanted him to be alone whole his life!

It was there our companionship got its
deadly shot. And I pity the one he once
will marry as he may make her to suffer
neglected as he himself feels like now.

 

 

 

 

 

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The road to let go

 

3600 miles as the crow flies from your heart and body,
4500 miles on roads where my feet have never walked.
Years have passed and how far have we come, tell me!
And how long do I have to walk and talk to myself to be
able to tell you the way ends here? How long will I whine
to the crows about you and not listen but keep suffering?
Do I need love so much that I blindly believe you love me?
The road to let go is so much longer than the road to you!

 

 

 

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Once upon a time I had a crush on a young man

Once upon a time I had a crush on a young man. He had such a lovely mustache, dimples in his cheeks and very blue eyes. He looked at me and got my heart to beat faster. But he was a good looking middle class college student and busy every time we met with his political meetings. And I was a working class girl with severe underclass complex, and I was bored at everything that wasn’t poetry and I honestly believed in the phrase “Around here you get what you can get”. Meaning, I didn’t believe he wanted me. So dispirited, I let me be hooked up by another guy. I was grateful anyone at all wanted me. Though I was a pretty girl but I didn’t know, shy violet me. He raped me one night at one of those conferences at that times and boasted next about what great sex he had had and my Mr. Romance got it all wrong and thought I was taken and I certainly was but not as he thought. So he withdrew when he saw me with that other guy. And I really wanted to go down through ground and disappear forever, wishes such not working at all on me. My world’s downfall it truly was, never recovering never talked about hidden deep in sad heart, such are. And what do people see when your heart gets crushed? Not even the valium pills cared about it. And further, men seems to relate to men only and act with women as they are a property to someone. Well anyhow, the good guys were apparently never for me, that what my story tells me over and again and I guess I have to be grateful to have had some lovers at all through the years and even had orgasms now and then. But I have realized I still have not learned anything by my past experiences, as I’ve done it now again – got a crush on a nice man and messed it up for me.  And gosh, I feel like shit over myself being so unskilled in love matters. Maybe I should forget about romances and get a hobby, knitting for example? Well, I wish I had such interests and power over my heart. But I’m still in for poetry only. Never did toughen up.

 

 

 

 

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Simple

 

 

 

 

 

We’re simple people you
and I and our feelings for
each other are also simple.
But the world isn’t simple.
I wanted to release you to
free myself, but you didn’t
want to. So we stay as we’re,
living apart, faithful to what
we feel, rejecting a rational
happiness. I think it’s crazy,
you don’t. But I said if that’s
what you want, then it’s okay
with me! I lied. Being simple,
doing simple, but you know,
to let go is not simple at all.

 

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The elevator (invisibilized)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The lady in the elevator looks down on you,
but what do you care!
You’re going up and she’s going down, you’ve
nothing to share!

Mistreated all your life, people now look down
or through you as if you’re not there.
Still you’re expected to be nice and friendly,
smile whenever you share the same square.

Feeling sad, you’ve a kind of lump in your throat
of suppressed tears.
And your troubles overwhelms you, those no one
in the world hear and share.

And at all times, those you love and want have
turn from you to disappear.
And you feel you’re like doomed to live in
loneliness and despair.

But now you’ll leave the elevator at your floor
and put the key in the lock to your door.

In your flat freed from invisibility, you take on
your dark and silent and private sphere.
You’re familiar albeit not friend to seclusion, that what
others deepest in their hearts fear.

To meet others never seemed to work well for you,
as it always turned into a nightmare.
And tired of being disrespected and misunderstood
you don’t want to try any more, it ends here.

The lady in the elevator looks down on you,
but what do you care!
You’re going up and she’s going down, you’ve
nothing to share!

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in alienation, armed loneliness, create life, darkness, fragile, loners, lost, lost trust, obstacles, past, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, reality, repression and borders, sadness, unhappiness | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

There’s no tomorrow for what died yesterday

 

 

 

 

There’s no love around us anymore
what once has solidify will never change
It’s silly to believe love is all you need
when blindness becomes its only seed

Love will fade just like the sun goes down
there’s no tomorrow for what died yesterday

Love is the blindness that’s in you and me
Love fools us to believe our feelings are real
and whatever you feel in your heart is true
and that’s what’s inside everyone of us

Love is fading just like the sun goes down
there’s no tomorrow for what died yesterday

You drilled a hole down bottom of my dinghy
and it’s tough for one who cannot swim or row
I saved me with the cap from a bottle mail
hidden, forgotten then found, not your merit

And love has faded like the sun has gone down
There’s no tomorrow for the yesterday’s drown

 

 

 

 

Posted in loss, lost, lost trust, love story, morality, past, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, reading life, reality, sentimentality, surviving, with or without you | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Dismissed body, missed (+ one haiku)

 

I have so many photos of you:
You are a wholesaler in selfies:
I take one to see what I sell out:
You stand by a swimming pool
wearing only swim shorts and
showing off a lot of your brown
body and I could easily eat you
like marzipan, a beauty to see:
I put the pic at my laptop screen
to take in what is not mine and
what’ll never be mine and what
might never was mine – after all:
Yes it’s called mourning this what
stings the soul but is told to cease
with time – and I don’t want that:
All these illusions through one life
and loves in the past which never
became more than fruitless hopes:
Wasted time and energy and words:
Words said and unsaid, squeezed
as grapes to songs and sweet music:
But I dismiss all that if not with you:
So can’t we be like “just friends”?

 

 

 

Jag har så många foton av dig:
Du är en grosshandlare i selfies:
Väljer ett att se vad jag säljer ut:
Du står vid en swimmingpool i
bara badbyxor med bar och brun
hud och jag skulle kunna äta dig
som marsipan, så vacker att se:
Jag lutar din bild mot skärmen
på min laptop att betrakta det
som inte är mitt, som aldrig blir
mitt och kanske aldrig var mitt:
Ja, ”sorgearbete” kallas det för,
det som svider i själen, men sägs
svinna med tiden jag vill inte det:
Och alla illusioner genom livet:
Kärlekar som aldrig blev mer än
förhoppningar och bortkastad
tid och energi och orden, orden:
Sagda och osagda pressade som
druvor till sånger och ljuv musik:
Men åt helvete med det utan dig:
Så kan vi inte vara ”bara vänner”?

 

 

 

Come closer to me                                                   Kom närmare mig
Embrace the moment we have                             Omfamna ögonblicket
Tomorrow never!                                                    Imorgon aldrig!

 

Posted in Attraction, life and love, love story, poem in Swedish and English, poem in Swedish translated to English, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, with or without you | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

“I’m fine, thanks!”

I looked after you
and found you in my heart,
that which I lost given it to you.

You hold yourself back with these “I’m fine”.
With time, it’s like serving a chicken to a lion.

We are like prisoners in chains, bound to each
other and we trudge through this mud we call
“love”. And then nothing to say but “I’m fine”!

There’re days when I want to free me to leave
you, everything to regret and forget. “Nothing
to say!” is like a grain of sand in an oyster and
“I’m fine” answers hurt the heart. I just hate it.

But I guess it is just a matter of time before one
simply takes off the chains, leaving it all having
nothing to say but an “I fine, thanks”!

Posted in Attraction, desirers, dreaming, heartache, life and love, love story, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, relationships, romance, with or without you | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Sunday morning coffee insnowed in Sweden

Stockholm Sunday morning February 3, 2019 SVT

The weather reports promised large snowing at the East coast regions and it came and comes! I’m having my Sunday morning coffee insnowed in Sweden while the plow cars roar outside my windows and I read online a CNN article by Tamara Qiblaw “MBS ‘clampdown’ fuels surge in numbers of Saudi refugees”. If interested, you’ll get good information about the current situation for people in Saudi Arabia and those wanting to flee the country.

https://edition.cnn.com/2019/02/02/middleeast/saudi-refugees-intl/index.html

“Would You Buy A Used Car From This Man?” entry Oct 2017

Rahaf Qunun AFP

Posted in courage, create life, cultures, poems by vonnely, Poetry, politics, reading, reality, repression and borders, Sweden view, web papers | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Our various landscapes


We have different landscapes in our
souls, you and I; never see the same.
Sand slipping through fingers is only
something symbolic to me, I’ve never
experienced such. And a desert is also
something figurative to me, only a word
for emotions like feeling “lost” or “lonely”.
I’ve never felt its dryness or its heat or its
cold, never its beauty. But I got to know it
through you. You’ve in turn never seen my
landscapes with mysterious fairy forests or
the sudden glades showing sunny glittering
and enchanting lakes; nor have you walked
lush green and flowering meadows where
lovers find paths making the dreams true.
But you wanted to. And I wanted you to.

Posted in borders, cultures, deserts, inspiring images, living in the world, opportunities, paradigms, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Empty

 

 

 

 

 

I took all I had and I used it and then I felt so empty
and I turned around for you. But you weren’t there
as I wished you would be. But again, what are all our
wishes worth? Nothing, nothing at all! It’s late now
and I’m going to bed, but I hope it’ll prove to be true
what people quote, that “tomorrow is another day”!


 

 

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A wolf got to do what a wolf got to do

A wolf kills a roe deer at the backyard to a bungalow in a small village Tierp about 130 kilometers north of Stockholm

A wolf hunting a deer into a village was shot yesterday, Tuesday January 29, 2019.

Predators lives on hunting, eating meat. How should we be able to have wild animals in our nature if we do not allow predators to eat the food they are created for to eat?

Human hunters shoot animals for pleasure and not because they are hungry. It’s kind of hobby to kill animals and see them die. But then they motivate their hunting with it is for the purpose to keep different species of animal populations within certain definite proportions in certain areas. And now a wolf has been shot doing the same job!

It’s the policeman at place who decides about shooting of wild animals. I have no objections of them shooting wild animals if necessary. But a policeman have not the qualifications to make the decision to do it. Only trained animal keeper and biologists have that.

Many of us in Sweden live in small villages with wild animals and nature around. And it is what we want to have. But it is certainly not a pleasant experience for anyone that a wolf go astray into a residential area there you live. But this animal was in hunt urges and had hardly any focus on the environment. A dog in hunt fever is in the same statement and it is not any unfamiliar phenomena for people dealing with animals. And such an event is not a threat to anyone around!

But this poor animal was caught of a crowd of different kind of people gathered and for hours and was prevented from get away with its prey. It is said it was wounded, but not really more than some scratches as must be normal for wild living animals. It was not cared pet, for heaven’s sake!

It was a wild wolf and its only “crime” was to be hungry. Hardly a reason to be killed for.

And hardly a reason to be caught in a upset crowd of people, policemen with cars, filmmakers, curious people and animal “experts”… All those crowded people confusing the poor animal – and then say the wolf  “did not behave normal”. Well!

Someone there could have taken the charge and decided to take the killed deer into the wood safe and let the wolf eat it. Or slept down the wolf and transported it into wild woods. Preferably among with its dinner!

The wolf was just hungry, remember!

To change subject to another diet than meat-eating. I’m a restricted lactovegetarian and I would be a vegan if I only my stomach would accept soya products and beans. As I’m also a diabetic I have to compromise with my diet for health reasons. But I could never be an omnivore.

Before this wolf event Swedish new papers have been written lately about a small group of violent animal rights activists. They were active some years ago until justice caught them an put them in jail. Now they are back returning to their criminal harassment of farmers. In their traces follows traumatized farmers and their children – and even the animals those “vegans” say they want to save are frightened, sometimes with deadly outcoming.

As a vegetarian it worries me that inhuman criminals like those people destroy the reputation and the acceptance for us “normal” people who has chosen another diet and simply don’t eat animal products. We vegetarian with common senses don’t harasses others for what they chose to eat.

Nor would I discredit others for different life choices, such as opinions, appearance or clothing, etc. I might not “like” others life styles, but I have no democratic rights to interfere in others life in such matters.

It’s good fighting for “animal rights”. But humans are animals too, remember. And need protection. The world is full of humans mistreated. Women raped as war weapon. Poisoned farmer workers in cotton fields or coffee fields or mining. Homosexual’s discriminated in Africa and Asia, latest horror reports from Chechnya and Tunisia about horrifying torture of homosexuals. And in Sweden – farmers should not get their daily life destroyed because of the threatening actions of a handful fanatics.

Vegetarians is not a homogeny group. Some are vegans of political reasons and they seems to have no problem to eat animal products, naming their food disgusting name like “vegan bacon” etcetera. Then we have the (older) group I belong to, who simply can’t eat body parts from killed animals. It’s for us as disgusting as it might would be for  you if you are a omnivore to slaughter and eat your cat or dog!

Because of those now animal right terrorists latest actions a leader for a Swedish political party has publiced in media a statement for actions to protect farmers, saying she care for the safety of farmers and that she sees this as a democracy question. Further she claims that farmers are doing good things for our society and environment. That last statement can be discussed!

She has not understand the main objection against animal breeding: which is animals are not seen as animals but production units.

The food industry has no interest in to hold a vital countryside with a population or for protecting the environment, they just want as much profit as possible. The treatment of the milk cows’ reproductive organs is an exploitation of a species that is simply disgusting and horrible. The same is to say about breeding hens for egg production. A wild hen would not produce an egg every day.

We should not eat meat or milk products if we can avoid it. But there can be health reasons to keep a limited production utilizing animals – and frankly we need a production of meat for food to our dogs and cats (and other carnivores in zoos). Pets like cats and dogs are carnivores and it is cruelty to try to make them to vegans.

It’s cannot be anyone’s civil right to attack farmers and traumatize their children and terrify the animals in their stables. People doing this should be prosecuted as terrorists and get much harder prison terms than they get now.

The focus on to make a change in the food production cannot be directed on the farmers but on the consumers. And there is already a big change in human consumption behavior, something the grocery shops have adapted quickly to. Veganism is a new branch for money making.

You can’t change people’s behaviors with provocative demonstrations and nasty pictures of suffering animals, or by attack common people with reproaches for to create shame in them for eating animal products. It’s not working.

The only you get from that is that people will hate you for being a vegan. And people do! Sorry to say it , but a vegetarian has to take a lot of shit from ignorant people, even from people working in health care and should know better. Tell me!

If we want to end the exploitation of animals for  food production, we must  make veganism attractive for its nice, healthy and tasty cooking and for to be an appealing choice for how to save the planet  – and then people might want to join you! And that’s the trend now!

The trend will be  green dishes becomes more and more desirable and this change what people want to buy in the grocery stores.

Milk production must simply be made unprofitable and exclusive. Thousands percent raised price on each liter of milk would give the farmer and decent income and make the product to a rare luxury or a medication for sick people or for infants needing extra nutrition.

Yet even the grocery shops more and more adapt to the veganism trend, they have done it in some odd ways: Why must I as a vegetarian have to go to meat dishes with pork and beef steaks to get my vegan products or to the charcuterie corner to collect my vegan cream cheese? Why?

The other day in an unfamiliar shop I was shown to a corner to fetch my can with vegan sandwich spreading – this vegan product was placed above disgusting packages of blood pudding! It seemed to me of the facial expression in the young shop assistant’s face, she thought it was good that I as a vegan consumer had to put up with become disgusted for to be able to buy my goods.

I senses like being brutalized by the shopkeepers as for how they planning their interiors in their stores.

As a consumer I should be able to go to a common supermarket and get my groceries without become disgusted, running the gauntlet between the corners of animal products. It’s just a question of how the merchants plan the interior in their shops. They do not mix cheese and with meat products, so why place the small range of vegan products at the corners with animal products?

I’m so fed up with this! As it is no coincidence, as we all know, that sweets are placed near the cashiers, I think there it is no coincidence that vegetarians are shown such contempt.

I think there are probably the same kind of non-thinking indifferent people causing us vegetarians this inconvenience as those who were crowded around that wolf who only wanted to eat what a wolf is supposed to eat. A wolf is a carnivore, a human doesn’t have to be. We have a choice, the wolf had not.

And despite that, they shoot the poor animal! I became so angry when I read this news about this wolf event I couldn’t and I cannot help myself from thinking as the same as for arrogant merchants “such idiots”!

 

Posted in animal rights, changes, courage, create life, food, hate, human rights, living in the world, nature, poems by vonnely, politics, reading, Sweden view, web papers | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Is love’s ending, love in vain?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Is love’s ending, love in vain?
I woke up and felt like a bus
had run over me, it was you!

Walking a street, no map and
not sure where to go or what
to turn to and eyes burns and
heart is a shrunken dried fruit.

Not happy, no more unhappy!

I’m measuring you: if you were
serious and true to me, then it’s
okay but if not, then I was used.
And I “must” feel this lousy and
low? Or is it “all in your head”?

But my wounded soul still asks:
is a love ending a love in vain?

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in armed loneliness, loss, lost, lost trust, love poem, love story, past, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, reading life, romance, sadness | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

He wrote “I do not know what to say”

John Bauer (1882-1918) Prince in Moon land

 

He broke the silence, texting
“I do not know what to say,
I just want you to be happy,
but I think I failed in that.”

She wrote back:
“You made me love you,
you did not failed in that!”

 

 

 

 

Posted in borders, love story, online romance, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, relationships | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The request

Send me a sign!
One word, one line,
and make it all undone:
you’re not the one for me!
Turn to me, listen to my plea
be the one I want you to be,
the only one I want to see:
I crave a word and a line –
a returning lover’s sign!

Posted in changes, create life, love poem, love story, poems by vonnely, Poetry, reality, with or without you | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

The empty hole-ways in my head

Everyone tells you not to look back (unsolicited), still everyone does behind their drawn bedroom curtains and in dreams. And I dreamt the last night about (a rarely remembered) lover from over 30 years back and I woke up annoyed with a dreadful headache. And when I (after a long silence) got a text from my latest one and still was colored of the dream I thought I clearly could see a pattern in my love life, how I have involved myself with the kind of men never doing me right. But as the day went on I realized I actually had not got any skillfull insight about my life patterns, but had a flu and sinusitis. “You need something expectorant herb tea to ease those inflamed hole-ways in your head”, my son told me. “Yeah, you are right”, I said. 😦

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This is the end of our story

 

 

 

 

 

And this is the end of our story:
so much hope and so little glory.
This is the end of a sweet romance,
which never got a single chance.

Know, in my mind I always see your face,
yet with time it will fade, others in place.

Know, a dream once touched by a kiss
is a sleeping beauty in smiling bliss
A lover left, he wakes with hard desires,
and others will give him what he requires

This is the end of a love story
that truly will not leave much glory.
I will always remember your lovely face,
but the time I wasted is my hidden disgrace.

 

Posted in changes, life and love, love story, morality, poems, poems by vonnely, Poetry, relationships, with or without you | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Part-time commitments (perspectives)

 

In an urbanized and modern society as ours, even “love” has a “best before” date. He always said to her “I could do everything for you,” and he told her his love was “forever”. But in practice his love was a part-time commitment and he was a busy man at his social arena and not much he did for her. Only her idle longing and suffering seemed to be endless and was very unprofitable for years. But as it’s true “time goes by”, she wrote after all her “wasted” years a novel about her fruitless love commitment. And “love” is the same superior topic no matter time. But time had changed the view of men’s world and she was right in time. Her novel became a success and she won a prestigious literature prize, money and a brand name giving her a “forever” living. But he was hanged on the public square in shame and disgrace. While she bought a classy bungalow in France, found a new lover but to soon divorce him too as love and longing is forever timeless, but the actors are regularly replaced. The hanged out man got back on feet and became a guru within his small crowd of still remaining old and faithful friends and he is now writing on a book about love and women and about feeling betrayed. “It will be a killer”, so he tells media. And shameful love and betrayal is certainly an eternal theme, still capable of giving good headlines and a living for some.

All while a dangerously poisoned and still neglected earth, in spite all alarm bells ringing on every square, sighs and dies.

 

Earth seen from the Moon

Posted in armed loneliness, heartache, living in the world, morality, poems by vonnely, politics | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment