My Fantastic Pen

I prefer writing
with a used pen found in the street
or with a promotional pen, gladly one from the electricians,
the gas station or the bank.
Not just because they are cheap (free),
but I imagine that such an implement
will fuse my writing with industry
the sweat of skilled labourers, administrative offices
and the mystery of all existence.

Once I wrote meticulous poems with a fountain pen
— pure poetry about purely nothing
but now I like shit on my paper
tears and snot.

Poetry is not for sissies!
A poem must be just as honest as the Dow Jones index
— a mixture of reality and sheer bluff.
What has one grown too sensitive for?
Not much.

That's why I keep my eye on the bond market
and serious pieces of paper. The stock exchange
belongs to reality — just like poetry.
And that's why I'm so happy about this ball point pen
from the bank, which I found one dark night
in front of a closed convenience store. It smells
faintly of dog piss, and it writes fantastically.

Translation P.K. Brask & Patrick Friesen
© Niels Hav