Multilingual Po(t)et

I am unbelievably overloaded with savings. Stock market being flooded, storages packed and boxes filled. To the very rim and further additions on top. Wavering, wobbly stuff; late night ramblings and school related missions. Based on own free will of course. So very typical of me. And thus, here are some samplings and tiny bits and random paragraphs. Paraphrases, parachutes, parasites, I dunno. Language miscellany. Complete and utter confusion. Rejoice in the strange artistry of the Po(t)et and please don't take me for an attention craving clown of some conceited kind. Just - po(t)etic. Always.

PO(T)ETENS ÜBEROPPDRAG®, PART X: A PROPER STUNT! PERFORMANCE ART! Trying to be unconventional and quite an original artefact, whilst also celebrating another anniversary. Proud that I've finally found a proper form, an outline, a kind of magic (!) formula that I may use for times to come, and yield with inspired enthusiasm. Also including user manual and loads of rubbish detailing. This is proper head-banging, drumrolling, exhausting, long-time-no-time shite with a giant effort and a slick result. I count my steps to the door of the devil. All the while, singing. HURRAY, I'M A PROPER ARTIST NOW!

The Official User's Guide to Po(t)etens Oppdrag. And some specifications. Ok, this is how it works: now that we've reached part Ten and everyone's looking for the missing Nine (another Doctor Who-reference there, beware, and a very obvious one too!) others, what you can do is this (and it's quite simple): Just type "po(t)etens oppdrag" in the search blog-box just at the top of the page, and press - well - the search-button, whereafter you should get a number of posts popping up in your browser window, all entitled (one way or the other) Po(t)etens Oppdrag. Now, that was almost as detailed and complicated as the University's Computer Introduction Course that I had to do (endure, that is) last year - where everyone was either crying (with shame) or laughing (with disgust) or both. Fascinating stuff. But, furthermore: these are four very different poems, with regard to both quality and theme. A reproduction, of sorts, a fangirl musing, a dark reflective poem on the complicated aspects of life, in German no less, and something rather incomprehensible and potentially incorrect, which I wrote for my recent, and now completed, crash course in Italian. In other, more clarifying words: these are tiny samples of all the languages I know. These are examples, somewhat like a portfolio, of all that I'm capable of, as a po(t)et. And by the way, po(t)et is a proper profession, in case you wondered. Or were mistaken to believe otherwise. This is what I do. And this is what I love doing. This is all me, all of mine, all I know. Enjoy.

NORSK: GJENDIKTNING AV KENT
Mission: skrive et dikt som reflekterer stemningen i sangene til Kent, og tar i bruk Jockes favoritt-tema i hele verden, synes å være, altså å finne tilbake til noe eller noen eller seg selv. Style: Vesentlig kortere enn jeg pleier å skrive, men ikke nødvendigvis enklere. Dyptpløyende og konsist. Theme: Apokalyptisk, grunnende, reflekterende; tanker om verden og vesnene i den: noe der i gården. Twist: Kan bli lenger. Med tid og stunder. Men enn så lenge går jeg idolet Ezra Pound en høy gang, når det gjelder nedstripping av tekst.

"Løfter" - [technic draft] - enda nånting om att återvända.

Av Scaramouche, po(t)eten, med hemsk stor tack til Jocke. Underbara mann. Och med tack till Tvärslå, nett-ordboken. Varför det här ätte komplicerade projektet? Alltså, jag tenkte nu jag sku försöke att göra det hela lite mer fancy, eftersom att fortfarande bara skriva på Norsk - som jag så ofta gör - simpelthen bliver lite enkelt för en som Scara. Hihi. (Jeg har med andre ord virkelig latt meg inspirere av Kent her! Huhei!)

ingen kommer hit
for å vende tilbake
det synes ironisk
når vi stadig forsøker
å finne oss selv
og er vi ei slik
vi opprinnelig var
hva er vi da
vi strener i rute
og ute av sinnet
men finner det aldri
igjen

ENGELSK: DOCTOR WHO
Mission: write something simple, poignant, illustrative and fangirl-like about The Doctor as a character, yet also in honour of "Time Crash" and Peter Moffat's fandom-themed dialogue - which I thought was quite fantastic. Style: simple, as mentioned above, and showing a way of thinking, a consistent idea and an everyday language, that could be representative of the Doctor himself. Theme: Whatever will The Doctor do without his one beloved? Whatever will we fangirls do, as we keep on capitalizing the D and contemplating his fate? Never quite finish with the Beach Scene and its aftermath, either. Twist: Last lines are all mine and quite biographical. Nothing related, no continuity whatsoever, but a lot of context. Warning: SPOILERS AHEAD! If you haven't seen any episodes of series 2, if you don't know what happened to Rose and couldn't care less, if you don't like Time Travels, if you don't want to imagine how The Doctor would think of Rose, or how Rose would describe the TARDIS, if you don't support The Doctor and Rose's relationship, if you don't approve of soppy sci-fi droodles - STAY AWAY! And if you're such a Doctor Who-hater: why don't you sod off, while you're at it, you ignorant punk! This is for friendly faces only! As for fangirls and others: this is all yours. A dedication to the dedicated.

"Doctor's Narrative" - a plain and simple reflection on a very complex and difficult alien boy. By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, and biggest fan ever ever. Also, a response poem to the following, slightly related pieces: Rose's Story, The Lovers' Journey and, of course, Scara's excessive Birthday-babble. Never can get enough of these soppy shipping drabbles.

there is a man who roams about and never obtains peace
despite this, strangely merry, for he seems to be at ease
all dressed in brown, a sweeping cloak, both humourous and cunning
his world stands never still, he never stops, he keeps on running

whilst quick remarks and cheap shots cover up the darker silence
the underlying danger that is coped with; utmost patience
adventure has a price, he knows, you lose and next you find
but also, there's a prize, for which this man is never blind

whatever wishes forward put, shall be accounted for
be careful just, that when you wish, you do not wish for more
many times he's loved, then sought someone to love anew
but didn't bargain for a love so heart-breaking and true

at times he's lost, at times unsure, once in a while he'll find her
next; gently brushing memories away, take off, and wonder
she'll know too well she can't betray that unspoken reminder
may owe allegiance to no man whose miracles are kinder

crisis strikes again, and whilst in battle he thinks clearly
too bold and too far out, although he misses her severely
yes, mostly, he's a saviour though some things he does for show
so he be granted just one wish; that she could see him now

such is the overwhelming power of the greater law
that when you're in, you're set for something swelteringly raw
much harder struck when unprepared and meeting all by chance
the helpless, hopeless bliss of falling for a single glance

two hearts beat faster, oh by far, than one will ever do
can hold the more affection; although, pain and sorrow too
he settles for the simple facts, he knows it will take long
to gain relief, to shun the sights, and finally overcome

much better off with apple grass and songs and loosened ties
sweet dancing to imagined tunes, persistently he tries
yet he cannot give back, he can't refuse, he can't restore
the fate that once became him, has befallen him play sore

go by these unforeseen events, and journeys come to end
the changing of the weather, the encounter with a friend
further tell the stories and the lies present with glee
speak little of what's learnt, and leave unveiling features be

a traveller without a proper home, but he's alright
he's got a ship of dreams and vigour, blistering with light
a magical machine to which he must return at last
go chasing for the future and abandoning the past

**
He once was Casanova, but to me he's always Doc
And everything'd be super if they just could turn the clock
Cos Lucky Ten's no lucky man, he wanders on his own
He's settled for the slow path, seeking someone who is gone

DEUTSCH: FREUNDSCHAFTGESCHICHTE
mission: for alle som ikke kan tysk, eller ønsker å vite i klartekst hva det er jeg driver med, så ønsket jeg altså å beskrive vennskap og lidenskap og hvor fort allting kan falle til jorden og bli til støv, bli borte, bli ingenting tilbake. theme: vennskapsforhold, som sagt. om litt for mange skuffelser og en resignert observatør av livets skyggesider. style: sammenhengende, sammensurium, litt monotont, rytmisk, stream-of-consciousness, fancy thingies, deprimerende undertoner. tankestrøminger og frustrasjon. twist: johan harstad-referanser, anyone?

"gleichfalls" - ohne schatten, ohne mauer, ohne mich
von scaramouche, die po(t)etin - und ich hab also, mit völler ubelegung, die wörter hindurch nicht gross geschrieben, weil diese sonderliche anfangsbuchstaben so unnötig und...unpraktisch sind! tut mir echt leid, aber wirklich!

freundschaft ist mal
leidenschaft
wurde mich gelernt
und angewöhnt
später, danach, als ich
reifer war
ganz ausgewachsen
wurde so als falsch bestätigt
kein wunder
gegen die überraschung
ging ich
unerwartet
ich hab' zu viel gesehen
durchgelebt
und mir angezogen worden
kann nichts mehr
sie lügen
wenn sie wollen
gehen, hinter, sehen mich nie
von vorne an
der sagt, so kennt man
null sonst
die lacht, so weiss man
null ferner
und übderdies von denen
nichts gefragt,
gleichseitig nichts gesagt,
vermerkt, oder wie
nichts anders
ohne schatten, ohne mauer
bin ich nur als ich
ein usw, ein' sache, eine weise
worauf ich gekommen war
und dann verloren
besser als allein zusammen
weil die freundschaft wird
kein leidenschaft
wenn leiden alles ist
was übrig hier gelassen wurde
solch verliess mich
gar nicht mehr

ITALIANO: I MIEI ESERCIZI
mission: livsfarlig, potensielt pinlig prosjekt - on demand, faktisk; fordi italiensk-læreren min insisterte på at jeg "burde skrive noe snart". og det gjorde jeg da. theme: Den Umulige Kjærleiken. om gutter som er frastøtende og uhyggelig tiltrekkende på én og samme tid. hvordan de tvinner meg rundt lillefingeren, til tider, og får meg til ikke å vite hvor jeg skal gjøre av meg eller hva jeg skal si. om å ikke kunne glemme. style: bokstavrim og tilfeldige ting som hørtes fint ut på engelsk (originalutgaven var delvis på engelsk, må da sies) og enda finere på italiensk. håper ikke skrivefeilene og den uholdbare grammatikken er altfor fremtredende, men på en annen side; hvor mange nordmenn snakker egentlig flytende italiensk? hvor mange italienere leser bloggen min? hvor mange gidder å bry seg om feilaktig gradbøyning, så lenge innsatsen er så oppriktig og helhjertet? twist: unintended rhymes, flott bruk av fjorten forskjellige verbformer på finurlig vis, synes undertegnede, og ifølge nevnte italiensklærer ganske så høytidelig formulert. intet mindre.

"Andato e trovato" - per le mie insegnante, grazie!
Di Scaramouche, la Po(t)eta, ma con il aiuto da una amica.

il bel ragazzo
risiede nelle caverne
del mio cuore
profondo nei limiti
perso, lui; meraviglia
una parte costante
rimane di solito esterno
ma talvolta entra
e utilizza il suo spirito
per ottenere a me;
magari vince, varia,
questo malo, brutto;
ciò vero orrore che non
sopporto
però è irresistibile
sempre, dovunque,
ma tutto diventa
caldo, che confonde;
spesso non so
se desidererò
di nuovo mi che faccia
visita, in seguito a
proprio immerso
nei miei pensieri
non afferro che il mio
interiore
si svuota oppure gioisce

**
HÅPER DIKTNINGEN FALT I SMAK! ;)
PO(T)ETENS OPPDRAG WILL BE CONTINUED - SHORTLY! ALL COMMENTS MUCH APPRECIATED, THANKS FOR STOPPING BY.