A poem for Jan

Here’s a cake with sixty candles,
more lit candles than cake
some would probably say,
but the proof is in the eating,
not the iced cover on top.

Here’s to a life with sixty years,
but not quite blown out yet,
much more to be written down,
mature wine waits to be consumed.

Tales to be spun under almond trees
through glassy eyes, feet outstretched
nudging the papered blossom.

A Hansen man with sixty poems,
atleast that number worth reading,
richer than many, most would say.

Here’s to you Jan! Oskar the fjord,
who tells of Russian shaded forests,
glimpses of freedom to be imagined
and soldiers who never managed any.
Atleast you made it theirs.

 

* Written for fellow poet Jan Oskar Hansen on his sixtieth
birthday. Below is one of his narrative-style pieces.

 

The Other Side.

Out of the grainy grey whiteness of what appeared to be a film screen,
Curt, the Wehrmacht sergeant whom had been killed at Stalingrad,
came marching. He had been sent there by the boss to show me the
way in this labyrinth of void that afterlife can be for a newcomer.

I felt a bit disappointed had expected heaven to be more colourful,
green lawns and purple flowers, instead of this cloudy zero. Curt,
my angelic instructor, who could read my thoughts, said: It’s up to
you to fill in the blank screen and create you own environment”

The dull screen disappeared and we’re in a summer glade in a vast
Russian forest, soldiers sat smoking and chatting idly to each other;
the scene had the feel of both doom and utter bliss.” Whose memory
is this?” I asked.

“Mine” Curt said. ” It was the moment when fear couldn’t touch us”.

As this picture faded I saw mother sitting by the fire reading aloud from a
novel, the child sitting next to her was me and the scene had the same feel
of bliss, doom and transience. I looked out of the cabin’s window and saw
sister riding a bike my brother sat on the wooden gate. So that’s what it is,
a string of memories, a happiness I hadn’t been aware of, but will it not be
boring after some time? I had forgotten that Curt, the iron cross angel,
could read my thoughts. ” Heaven is timeless, all happens now, you won’t
sense ennui”

As Curt turned to go back to his soldiers I asked:
“What about God, do I get to see him?” The highly decorated soldier smiled
and I knew that my question was superfluous. As I walked along a lane
leading to my new home, I knew that heaven is a place where the human
experience is distilled into everlasting love.

jan oskar hansen