The Oncoming - Poem by Oskar Hansen
On the wall in my room a temporary sunlight,
valiantly struggles with a shadow, or perhaps
they are dancing a slow waltz: see a tiny bust
of Johann Straus on the bookshelf, who spent
the last ten years of his life moving from town
to town in hope of escaping death.
I look out of the window, a river of cars and
a bank, outside it an expensive car is illegally
parked, a patrol car slows but doesn´t stop as
the car oozes economic power; stops instead
near a cyclist, an officer tells him to use the road
and not the pavement.
Waltz is over and rough sea slams against
the porthole, I must have been dreaming or is it
my past and future that dance macabre?
Comments about The Oncoming by Oskar Hansen
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.