A scantily-clad woman has a drink \/ from the car you can stare \/ her nipples stick out
\npublic space \/ TV \/ yeah yeah so what fuck me for money
\ndesire is commercialized through and through \/ it has to sell us something \/ again and again we have to buy their shit<\/p>\n
The traffic is unreal to live is necessary \/ but hardly enough \/ vests and badges
\nhold us back self-confidently \/ the adults wave \/ to schoolbags \/ we want someone to grab hold of us
\nand actually have something to say \/ the newspaper violence \/ journalist \/ that’s a dirty profession
\nmost of them are \/ this morning I started crying too<\/p>\n
What you can’t see you can imagine \/ if what happened to that child happened to mine
\nI would I would I woulduh do something myself \/ fortunately in a way I was stopped
\nby a red light a yellow bus came past \/ and a representative of the world’s poor with a looseleaf binder
\nunder his arm \/ and a badge and a quilt jacket<\/p>\n
So that was what I dreamt about \/ to come home to \/ when I was in Vietnam
\nthe nights were mostly heavy good massive deep the sleep the hard beds \/ on the train to Hanoi \/ it was a nuisance
\nto go back and forth in the narrow passages \/ with my pointed hat<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
II<\/strong><\/p>\n I have the impression that what I think and feel is way behind \/ it’s boring \/ it bores me I no longer want to go anywhere but that’s a lie \/ I don’t want to be What do you know about the world what can you know Saarikoski writes about the new city sectors in the woods \/ that they are capitalist society’s beautiful footprints \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t how amusing to imagine \/ capitalism \/ walking around in good spirits <\/p>\n III<\/strong>\t<\/p>\n That <\/em>was a boring seminar! \/ it’s raining I felt sick to my stomach when I read about the new cut-backs in the papers today The room they’ve given me is cold \/ but richly furnished I am a danger to all the married women I know \/ because I am unhappy <\/p>\n IV<\/strong><\/p>\n The slightly sour air in the room where I sat all day and read I send several telegrams out to nothing You need to have something with you \/ a kind of basis \/ a kind of fuel I’ve begun looking at people’s faces \/ people I know have been through the same thing <\/p>\n V<\/strong><\/p>\n I’m spilling coffee as you can see \/ black lakes \/ in the municipality of the text No poem but seaview \/ and woods and beach and factories of a sort A receptionist slips in and presses a scrap of paper to the hand of someone \/ waiting to go to the microphone What is life for \/ a wife a couple of kids a job a career \/ one husband more and an affair <\/p>\n VI<\/strong><\/p>\n Between the houses the trees grope upward \/ the trees \/ nature I love you \/ I really love you The yearning would be real in that way like in a movie Existence in itself gives rise to a form of embarrassment But I never get off \/ from myself \/ and the others My misfortune \/ their misfortune \/ has no human cause I am so unhappy \/ on the other hand there’s news from the bank the first of every month \/ the orange window envelope Refugee center \/ care center \/ and so on \/ and so forth Anti-abortionists on TV \/ with signs \/ furious muslims \/ with signs \/ proud gays and dykes LOOK AT ME \/ THIS YOU HAVE TO TRY <\/p>\n <\/p>\n VII<\/strong><\/p>\n On the radio I hear that the Danish foreign minister \/ Per Stig M\u00c3\u00b8ller \/ is dead I wanted to read a free newspaper in the train but the light was bad \/ that is not a good light The children’s snowsuits are covered with traffic pictures \/ they have to be picked up at four \/ there are cars in every color I think about the TV news and its difficulty getting from one \/ item \/ to the other Personally I can’t see myself out of this \/ it is no help \/ that the problems are banal I felt sick to my stomach when I read about the new cut-backs in the papers today The room they’ve given me is cold \/ but richly furnished By Martin Glaz Serup<\/strong>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":119,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[484,7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-29577","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-maintenant","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/29577","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/119"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=29577"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/29577\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=29577"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=29577"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=29577"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nand the majority of the voters \/ you can’t read a poem from 1968 without the guerillas in Vietnam<\/em> being mentioned
\nSaigon’s suburbs \/ the drunkenness continues, the torture, the triumph <\/em>\/ today only the proper names are changed
\nand China’s role in the global economic warming<\/p>\n
\nburied in the daily administration \/ that’s a luxury \/ we enjoy in this part of the world<\/p>\n
\nwhat do you think is important to know about the world<\/p>\n
\nthat you could capture it if you wanted \/ that you could pick something out of its paw
\nand be its friend<\/p>\n
\neverytime I see a tree I want to write about it
\nthe way it stands there \/ in the rain<\/p>\n
\nmaybe it was just a hangover \/ I felt nausea
\nyou can easily get the idea that there’s nothing else in the world but marital problems \/ and pedophiles<\/p>\n
\nanyone who seizes the telegraph wire and national press can lead a great nation
\nthe ceiling is high \/ there’s noise from the other rooms \/ the water in the pipes hisses like gas<\/p>\n
\nand I don’t want to be \/ suddenly one day it happens anyway
\nthe snowstorm everyone we talk to talks about strikes our cabin too<\/p>\n
\nLyn Hejinian \/ writes suddenly: \u201cAre your fingers in the margin.”
\nI look in fright to see \/ desperation is so unbecoming<\/p>\n
\nor letters and emails \/ textmessages \/ while I wait for the next line
\nwait for time to pass \/ by itself \/ but time does not pass by itself<\/p>\n
\nan old friendship for example \/ that can grow older \/ something to look back on
\nI wash the floor air out clean up the kitchen it helps nothing<\/p>\n
\nor something like \/ the same thing \/ can you see something \/ did they come out on the other side as they say
\nand what can they say to that \/ when I ask \/ and ask and ask
\nand feel I’m getting nowhere \/ I’m just getting older<\/p>\n
\nI don’t really think I can survey my life \/ but it’s going fine<\/p>\n
\nwith their chimneys and their light \/ the light is filtered in the trees’ branches<\/p>\n
\nI’m waiting to be free of this boring seminar \/ someone is probably dead
\nthe plastic pen lies black and ready on its free advertising pad<\/p>\n
\nan illness another job and a black Mazda with license plate number VT 31 443
\nit should be moved immediately \/ there’s a truck that has to pass<\/p>\n
\nthat is a place to start \/ it is like the economy
\ninvisible and everywhere \/ a huge system \/ like love<\/p>\n
\nas I stand here in the dark in the rain on the street
\nI wish it would rain \/ and the streetlights
\ndance in the dark water \/ shining on every surface<\/p>\n
\na bad movie \/ depressed \/ or singing in the rain
\nit is embarrassing to witness something bad
\nbut everyone else laughs \/ and laughs<\/p>\n
\nthe machines that don’t work \/ and me standing staring at them
\nin a humming copy and printer room \/ it vibrates
\nit’s my job I’m just like waiting to get OFF<\/p>\n
\nthe bell never rings time \/ I am skeptical but it couldn’t be them \/ my colleagues
\nwho is behind the horrifying invisible camps
\nthat in fifty years we can claim we knew nothing about<\/p>\n
\nit isn’t people who do that to people
\nit’s an automaton \/ a system \/ a bureaucratic principle \/ a divine
\nlove \/ has nothing to do with us<\/p>\n
\nlovingly there in the corridor \/ traffic laws exist to be broken \/ not to be ignored
\nwe stop at the traffic pole \/ when the light changes we start again
\nwith our poetic euphemisms \/ and all our talk about realism \/ we must be realistic<\/p>\n
\nover again \/ like the light that brightens and dampens all at once \/ rain’s pissing down
\nhow can I ever get a hold of it<\/p>\n
\neverything has subtitles \/ so those in the back can see too
\nthe advertisement is everywhere \/ such a poor comfort \/ with its<\/p>\n
\nso he had a body after all \/ that hardly makes a difference \/ for the Danish economy
\nthe Danish economy doesn’t kill \/ very many any more \/ anyway not in Denmark
\nanyway not outside the care centers<\/p>\n
\nI dreamed I’d bought a caf \u00e9 by the water \/ everything shone in that dream
\nlike the lamps in the Metro that glowingly declare HERE \/ we have put another couple of meters behind us<\/p>\n
\nwhat do you think when you see all that transport \/ that the world is also a progress of associations
\nthat things happen because they suggest something \/ else<\/p>\n
\nthe entertaining interludes must glide smooth and witty \/ but seldom do
\nexistence hacks at it \/ even if you can glimpse a beginning middle and end<\/p>\n
\nhow will it all end \/ that<\/em> we know \/ it is the other \/ the others \/ all that in-between
\nI am so afraid of<\/p>\n![\"mgs_arhus_april_20101\"](\"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/\/wp-content\/uploads\/2010\/10\/mgs_arhus_april_20101.jpg\")
\nABOUT THE AUTHOR <\/strong>
\nMartin Glaz Serup<\/strong> is a poet, children’s book writer and editor. His poetry collections include The Face of Shyla<\/em>, The Field <\/em> and Mayor God<\/em>. The above excerpts come from Trafikken Er Uvirkelig<\/em> (The Traffic Is Unreal<\/em>) – translated by Thomas E. Kennedy.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"![\"serup_martin_glaz_msoendergaard1\"](\"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/\/wp-content\/uploads\/2010\/10\/serup_martin_glaz_msoendergaard1-150x150.jpg\")
That<\/em> was a boring seminar! it’s raining
\neverytime I see a tree I want to write about it
\nthe way it stands there \/ in the rain<\/p>\n
\nmaybe it was just a hangover \/ I felt nausea
\nyou can easily get the idea that there’s nothing else in the world but marital problems \/ and pedophiles<\/p>\n
\nanyone who seizes the telegraph wire and national press can lead a great nation
\nthe ceiling is high \/ there’s noise from the other rooms \/ the water in the pipes hisses like gas<\/p>\n