Strindberg Project

My World

A Poem By Samuel Nyholm

I did it
With immediate effect
An unbeatable offer

New York, Dubai, Bangkok, Tel-Aviv, Cairo
Shanghai, Mugadishu, Paris, Freetown, Thule
Via Montevideo and Paris

I refine the compass
The four cardinal points
The Seven Seas
Islands, cities, customs
People, deserts

Blood and assets

An accurate compass

The Mackenzie River's currents
Lake Titicaca's waves
The top of Mount Kogi
The Arctic mystery
General Juan B. Egusquiza's rainforest


The date of departure is tomorrow

The Conduct of packing-engineering

Trimmed cuff links
But my cuffs have no links

To hide objects of value
How to repair a tear in lining of the America trunk
I have no America trunk
I have two suitcases
Of the brand "Cunningham"

Polishing, waxing the mustache
Make it shine together with the sun and moon
I have no mustache


I want to say goodbye
Promise to come back
Count the days
Be missed some time
Leave a note hidden
A smell in the sheets
Save a boiled egg in the morning
One also for the sandwich with caviar
Be cautious for someone
Take care of me
A kiss
A handshake of significance
A promise to return
A contract
That everything will be quite the same

If my departure place was London

A double-decker bus would take me to the station
Passing Streets and Avenues
Circus and two-storey houses with small fenced gardens

Over cobblestone and vanity

Tea, blood and slave stick

Instead, I lift my luggage out to the waiting cab
To the train station.

I leave no stolen ivory

I leave a few anxious spruces


The window is open
At a hotel in the port
Seagulls cry out
Tomorrow, tomorrow

I am writing in an unknown language
It is translated
Most of it is missing
My language is very, very small


Concern in my body

Footsteps on the gangplank
Thoughts of no importance

Pondering possibilities without a certain cause

A butterfly breaks the silence

Delivers no redundant information

Nights without end
With women on the run
Rarely seen again
Other than with bad news

Rational news

Quantities travel through the few steps
And what I do leave behind
Balances over the gangplank

As I just left them, without promises


I am a hateful word
Trying to avoid it

Or in any case very, very difficult

The strait grows into two seas
Facing one another in a point


Go back and correct some mistakes


Traveling in a world
Which is a book in a firm binder
With pages that are falling apart

The parable is not my kind of truth
It has limitations
It is also falling apart

In smaller tunes
In smaller letters
In all books


The world is a sphere full of ruins
Which are tracks
New buildings are built
On top of the ruins
And crumbling apart

On top of corpses newborns are piled

Corpses leaves traces the newborn follows
Sidetracks and shortcuts
The realm of ideas, without cause

But nature is

It is not the lie I left behind
I can not break promises to it
As it follows me across the sea
Over mountains, through deserts

It is my travel partner, that remains


The trip takes place at a time
It turns me back
And signs on it's promises with rings

In the water

Its promises to be as round as rings
But a promise signed in Water

Breaks a rings

It promises to be like waves
But a wave signed promise
Will hit a rock

And disappear

Even if everything changes
It promises not to

Before breaking that promise, first of all


The world is full of broken trees
With tangled root systems

Snared in each other's roots
And strangling each other
Impoverished soil

On plantations in foreign countries

But not my trees
The firs

Been found to cope without the sun
With bears and lynx
On rocky soil

Wondering when I will come home



Between two bad choices
Selecting the most appealing

Bet on the director
You think will be famous

Persuade with the help of lies

Expose it for the darkness it does not master
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Published: September 10, 2010, 8:38 am