Xxcerpt from Transatlantcism: New York – Copenhagen. Robert Roth & Jens O. Magnussen

 

 

This is an excerpt from Transatlantcism: New York – Copenhagen [And Then Press, 2021], a back and forth epoch poem written through email exchanges where one person wrote a stanza or two and the other responded in kind.

 

© 2021 Robert Roth & Jens O. Magnussen

Artwork: Jens O. Magnussen

All rights reserved

Cover design by: John Hyldgaard

 

Library of Congress Control

Number: 2018675309 

Printed in the United States of America

 

And Then Press

 

 

 

 

 

[...]

 

Rosa is woken from a deep sleep

A night of drinking has taken a toll

It has been happening more than usual

More really than ever before

-

Where did the morning go

She wonders as she stumbles out of bed

Where is Signe

Why isn’t she here

She smacks her pillow

And throws it on the floor

-

An unfinished painting

No energy there pulling her towards it

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be

She boils water for her tea

 

“Was she just being a possessive fool?”

she thought as the water boiled.

She was well aware that Signe was all her own,

that she was attracted equally to men and women

and that any attempt on her part

to pull her closer

would be counterproductive.

Oh, all these speculations fed by jealousy’s sour spices

got her nowhere!

And even if it was over now

she had enjoyed the cornucopia of their love.

She almost missed Jack’s loyal affection

but after Signe there was no turning back.

 

Salwa hadn’t heard from Dalia for a couple of days

His concern grew as she didn’t answer her phone

He had just completed a ten part series

Immigrant Enclaves in Queens

The series was the talk of the town

Batya Rosenberg, his photographer collaborator

Had shot extraordinarily evocative scenes

He loved working with her

Still he felt empty about it

Cheap thrills for the upper bourgeoisie he thought bitterly

Another thing for them to talk about, get high on emotion about

Where is Dalia? He called Marcel.

He hadn’t spoken to her for a week

Salwa called his sister, Dalia’s mother, but she hadn’t heard either

Which was unusual

Maybe it’s nothing

She is a kid and maybe is just caught up with things

With a genius like hers you never know when it catches fire

 

Where is Dalia?!

Where is Dalia in this writer’s head?

Is she alive or dead?

has she slipped out of a back door

to a floor of her own,

or has she been kidnapped

now tied up in a basement all alone?

Where is Dalia?

Has she fled her new song

feeling something’s wrong,

gone back to France

trying to find the original spark?

Is she with the aliens or the ravens,

or has she simply fallen head over heels in love

and is now with the chosen one

forgetting all about time and place

enjoying this new grace of life

longing to become his wife?

Has she been picked up by the police

on some ridiculous pretense,

now being questioned about God knows what,

or has she fallen through a hole in reality like Alice

now walking through worlds of weird wonders,

where cellphones become butterflies

and there’s no difference between truths and lies?

Where is Dalia?

The writer stares hard into the wallpaper

hoping to conjure up her face,

but all he sees are

hippos, pelicans, giraffes, elephants and cheetahs.

Where is Dalia?!

Jens and Robert, Robert and Jens

They try and control me

One moves me here

The other moves me there

I go along

But it makes me crazy.

I’m tired

I’m bored

I’m fed up

They’re worse than parents

Worse than school teachers

Worse than those control freak extra terrestrials

Worse than creatures that live underground

Worse even than governments

I know that one would hurt them

Well okay they’re not as bad as governments

“Salwa, do you do that in your articles?

Make things up, make up false names

How do you choose what quotes to use,

Do you make composites of people you interview?”

“Dalia, I do my best. But I try not to let J & R control everything I do.

I am a reporter true to my calling. That’s me talking not them.

I get to the truth as best I can.

By the way, since when have you been using words like composites?”

“I love that word. It’s the title of my new song. Will sing it for you later.”

 

“Why not now, Dalia?

Let J & R hear what you can do on your own.”

“Don’t be silly, Salwa!

You know i’m just a vague idea without their words.

They’re the kind of poetic parents, who just can’t let go.

Can’t let go of any of us, but can’t keep track of us all either.

Maybe they can’t even speak my mind, 

but I have to speak theirs.

Well, who cares!

I’m just one more character in an endless dream,

a cute puppet in a crazy parade!

Don’t tell me otherwise, Salwa,

I know you won’t lie to me!”

Salwa scratched his beard,

“Of course not dear, but you are a puppet that can sing!

Sing for me, Dalia. Sing for J & R

and the whole world will listen!”

 

I’m not a soulful Arab girl

I’m not a defiant woman

I’m not a trembling superstar

I’m not a hard act to follow

I’m not a quiet mouse

I’m not a boisterous leader

I’m not a composite of their dreams

Or the living nightmare of their desires

I’m Dalia

Nothing more, Nothing less

I’m Dalia

Nothing more, Nothing less 

 

Bless her

Singing us all real as flesh and blood

Dreams coming true for me and you

 

Everybody joined in

and soon Needle in the Haystack 

was the center of the world

Like by magic all our characters,

from Henry Paul, Murphy, even the Norwegian troll,

Signe, Rosie, Jack, Marcel,

to Caipiuvex and his prankster fellow aliens

in the shape of three fleeting Obamas,

Rachel, Achmed and all the rest of them

sang along and were heard

from Greenland to South Africa,

in Rio, Berlin, Stockholm, London, Moscow, Rome,

Cairo, Rabat, Beijing, Hanoi a. s. o.

 

And soon Black lives Matter, Me Too, March for our Lives

And every civil rights movement that ever voiced its point

were there.

New York was buzzing with positive, love embracing energy.

Even the sun got a smile on its face!

-

And so let’s conclude this long Transatlantic journey

With one last look at Grip

watching everything with his head askew

and one pearly eye closed,

“Well, how about that! All together now. Dalia did it!

Never say die! I’m a devil!”