Tonight I will read out some texts from my book that I self published in 2011. It´s in English, poems and…reflections…? Not sure if the Norwegian word translates directly. But we use the word “refleksjon” about thinking about something, pondering and reasoning, thinking back, analyzing… I think reflection is a great metaphor for the description of my texts´ form .
If the word doesn´t quite fit in English, then it should, from this moment onwards! 🙂
The reflections in my book are a lot like the ones I write here on the blog.
(In my post “Radio years” I compared the form to radio talks, or “kaaseri” in Norwegian)…
I will read from my book, and then I have made Danish translations to 15 of the in all 78 text peices. So I will read a text in English, and then the Danish translation.
The process of translating the texts has been quite eye opening to me. To reshape a text and keep its form, content and rhtythm… almost impossible. Some easier than others. But languages are musical melodies as well as meaning. What sounds mellow and flowing in English, can sound abrupt and stiff in Danish.
To me this fact just makes it more interesting to read out the translated pieces. Also, in new shape, the meaning behind the words springs to life, becomes visible in a new, fresh way. Lovely feeling to me, I have worked these pieces through and through back then, when I made the book…
I have only read out loud my texts twice before.
First time was in a friend´s home, where there were a quite large group of Soka Gakkai students from Japan visiting. They were the sweetest, warmest audience one can imagine. So that luckily didn´t scare me off. (I used to have stagefright. I wrote about how I got rid of it in the post “a blogger and her blog”).
Then, the second time I read out loud in front of people, was last spring. In this little gallery in the town Esbjerg, which lies just across the water from my home island, a mere 12 minute ferry ride away.
Once a month there is a “Litterature salon” there, where the gallery owner invites people to come and read their creations. There´s also always music students there, sharing their things in between the reads. There´s only room for 30 people, and one has to book a chair in advance. It´s free to get in, and one can buy coffee. It´s a wonderful place with a very charming hostess who herself writes and paints.
It´s at this Henneberghus Gallery I read out again today, for the second time.
I will tell you all about how it went, when I know. 🙂
So today I am an author. Or a writer? A poet? The word “poet” actually means “creating”. So that word fits me well, I love being in the process of creating. Whether it is a song, a poem, a reflection, a film… Not many use that word these days. At least not in Scandinavia. It´s a shame.
I feel it is difficult to call myself an author. I have loved to write since I was 4 years old. I bought myself a desk at the tender age of 6, and my biggest wish for christmas was a typewriter. Which I got.
My texts have been published in magazines and papers every time I´ve gotten round to sending something in.
I have never sent a book script to a publisher´s. Not because I´m afraid they won´t want it. I´d just rather publish it myself, the way I see it should be, undisturbed by critics…
Not that I can´t deal with constructive criticism. I can. But. Somehow I feel the poems are sacred.
Many times I feel they come through me, that I did not invent them, just allowed them passage through my pen. Some times when I write, the words come out very fast so I dot them down in a rush, and only afterwards when I read through it, do I discover rhythms and rhymes… and old fashioned words I don´t normally use… It´s not automatic writing. But it is, I´m convinced, inspired by Spirit. Maybe channeled from time to time. I don´t know enough about these categories to tell for sure.
But many other artists and writers through time have been saying they don´t feel ownership to their creations, they feel they are receivers of messages from the collective consciousness or Spirit or… Yeah. Other dimensions. What to call it.
I wrote a song about the difficulty of identifying with labels. And filmed out the car window in Norway, and connected those images to the words in the song… It is me singing too. (And editing).
As a line in the song says:
“I´m a writer when I write, a reader when I read, a doer and a dreamer and above all I´m just me.”
There are two videopoems in this piece, there are 15 in all so I chose to upload some of them in groups.
The second, short film here is a haiku. (Formula 5 cyllables, 7 cyllables, 5 cyllables).
I filmed the route from my father´s hospits (hospital for dying patients), back to my parents´ home. After the last time I saw him. He died there ten days later. (26.of October 2010).
The haiku isn´t a sad one, though. It was not written at that time. yet it fits.
It REALLY fascinates me how our minds do what we in media science learnt to call “mindgapping”. Which means that the mind searches for meaning, and inserts connections where there may not be any intended.
So that when a poem gets connected to imagery, it widens its meaning, more can be read into it…
(some times imagery can also limit a poem´s meaning. But in my videopoems I feel meaning is added).
Well. Here you are, a song about the bizarrness of work title labels, and a haiku:
Tonight I am a poet. Who reads out her scribblings to an audience.
I remember last spring, it was so enjoyable to stand there and be listened to. Which surprised me a bit, because I used to be very opposed to getting up on a stage. The gallery also has no stage, but still. One stands before a group and is the centre of attention, and entertains, performs, expresses.
Let me share with you a poem about “who the audience is”. I´m reading this one out tonight:
About Who the Audience Is
My own True Self.
My Higher Self.
I am my witness.
Possibly also the
What is important is that no one judges
I don´t perform, I express;
presentation of content
coming through me, not made by me,
makes more meaning to me, not less.
I don´t believe in honour and shame
i don´t believe in life as a comparison game
I don´t believe in guilt or judgment either
I don´t believe in God / Satan-divide, neither
the “good” nor the “bad”
gives me value from the outer.
My soul validates me
there´s no need for a shouter.
An audience of listening
the vast yet voidless
silence of within.
Tonight I am a poet reading out my creations.
It just…. sounds so……
It´s like a jacket with far too long sleeves and at the same time it´s too narrow across the back….
“What will you become when you grow up?”
Such a fricking annoying question, that, isn´t it?
Become?? More of myself, of course. What else can I become. A tree? Someone else?
Grow up? When IS that point in time? I´m growing ALL the time, until I die.
And I´m also the same at core as I was age 12.
“So be an artist,” they say. “Just call yourself an artist.” But I never went to art school. I respect professions. I don´t see myself as an artist.
A poet. That´s the closest I get. As it only means to be in the creative process, creating.
Yes, that´s true. I do do that. I be that, then.
Just being. All this thinking. Thinking and labelling can never grasp the width and depth of being alive.
Simple as that.
I do sound therapy as well. Exams in December. I really enjoy singing those long tones on people, as they lay relaxed and drift off supported or guided by their body´s reception of the sound…
I really enjoy the sound giving. But to call myself a therapist….. is hard.
Maybe it will get easier once my exams are passed and I have more experience with clients.
I am a lot of things.
Or I am no
thing, I just do different activities.
A dreamer when I dream, a dancer when I dance, I´m a mother and a lover and a watcher of tv…
(From my song, if you didn´t watch the video above).
Wish me luck!
I´m sure it´s going to be a nice experience tonight.
What ever it is called.