torstai 13. marraskuuta 2014

The Poet in the Golden Coat

I have realised that my hometown Turku is full of writers that love to bathe in the Realities of Everyday. Go on and on about the problems in the relationship (which is the meaning of life), misery of life in general or the evils of the world. You see, it is so deep and grown-up to embrace the misery and self-pity and not believe in anything – at least in Finland.

Now that we have had the Southwest Finland Poetry Week here, I have just been reminded of that. I have visited in several poetry clubs wearing a golden coat and drinking red wine. And maybe the last one was a good solution many times.

Yesterday, in Cosmic Comic Café (it’s the Meeting Place Number One for all of us freaks and creeps in Turku), I took the open mic and gasped some Immature Rage to it.


Pelottaako? Olenko vastenmielinen,
ruma ja kauhea tai jotenkin puistattava,
kun olen melkein oikeanlainen, vain melkein?
Pelottaako hymyni, tai katseeni,
onko ehostukseni hirveä tai aivan liian ihana?
Ehkä puuttuu jotain, jotta olisin oikea elävä mies,
mutta pelottaako, että olisin liian lähellä sitä?

Pelottaako, että voisitte aivan vahingossa
kuvitella minua ilman näitä vaatteita,
itsenne allani tai päälläni, voihkien nimeäni?
Pelottaako, että sinä tai hän lankeaisitte
minuun, jonka kanssa ei täytetä maata tai edes kotia?
Ei, aseeni ei nouse tanaan kuin olisin oikea elävä mies,
mutta pelottaako, sillä se ei myöskään laske koskaan?

Pelottaako, kun ylitsepääsemättömän kuilun
pohjalta nouseekin jotain, siis terroristi tai olematon,
luonnoton tai aivan liian luonnollinen?
Pelottaako? Siis ylistäkää elämänne ainoan kerran
lämpimän siemenen aitoutta ja kiertokulun kauneutta!
Puistattava se on, ei ainakaan oikea elävä mies
– mutta pelottaako, miten hyvältä kauhu tuntuu?

(And a rough translation.)

A Taste of Creepiness 

Are you scared? Am I repulsive,
ugly or horrible, or somehow just creepy,
for I am almost how one should be – and not at all?
Are you scared of my smile, or my gaze?
Is my maquillage that terrible, or way too loveable?
Maybe something is missing from me being a real living man,
but are you scared for that I’d be too close to it?

Are you scared for the chance that you could
just by chance imagine me without these clothes on,
yourself on or under me, moaning my name?
Are you scared for you or her falling for me, with whom
you don’t fill Earth, or even one single home?
No, my sword won’t rise as if I was a real living man,
but are you scared, for it does not soften either?

Are you scared when from the bottom of the gap
that cannot be overcome – there’s still something rising?
A terrorist or non-existing, unnatural or too natural?
Are you scared? Go, praise once in your life
the genuineness of the warm seed and the beauty of the circle!
For it is so creepy and not a real living man
- but are you scared for the pleasure of pure horror?

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