Kit Kelen
Christopher (Kit) Kelen is a well known Australian poet, scholar and visual artist, and Professor of English at the University of Macau, where he has taught Creative Writing and Literature for the last fourteen years. Volumes of his poetry have been published in Chinese, Portuguese, Italian, Swedish and Filipino languages. Japanese and Indonesian editions are currently in preparation
Kit Kelen stayed for 2 months in Messen, last summer, together with the artist Carol Archer.
Here are some of his poems and paintings created during his residence in Messen.
Boulders of Ålvik
must each have once tumbled into position
a river of ice ground these pebbles out
toys tall gods have tossed aside
now slugs cross fat with the season of life
and bitumen creeks pass
boulders of Ålvik each mossed to its spot
are alive with the place
snow knows them – and the running stream
they are bracken swept, fern beset
beside steep uphill climb
flowers have said summer over them
it’s here gulls perch to sing a sea
they fish fjord and balance boulders
here in my antipodes
runes in them are deeper than reading
in their few dry moments someone sat
saw turf roofs rise and crooked chimneys
long ships launch, clouds slant
carpet of needles then snow’s quilt
white as winter’s black all night
the lapping’s all below
and there’s more foliage sidling up
or tucking under lichen
once in a while a tree will try one
suggesting soil enough
that’s something like a royal reign
lightning strikes a dynasty
or nations fall and rise
there is a core of knowing though
the ice will come again
tree, rock, cloud and me
trees become rocks
and rocks turn tree
too slow to grow
slugs will be roots
if they look too hard
leaves blow off
a breeze
clouds stand idly
they are the slowest
thing in the sky
blink
and you’ll
find yourself
gone
tre, stein, skyer og meg
(Nynosk translation by Bjørn Otto Walevik)
tre vert stein
og stein vert tre
veks for seint sneglar
vert til røter
viss dei ser for hardt
blad bles av
ein bris
uverksame skyer
seinaste
tingen på himmelen
blunk
og du vil
finne
deg sjølv borte
on such a day
on the day
you hang your bedding out the window
and a towel to dry on top
air the stairs with a wide open door
on such a day
your hear hoses
passing gardens
old folk sit on a bench
to soak a dry wall
make petrichor
with purposeful stride
the one with the rake – leaf warrior
and even that’s painted bright
bicycle goes by with a nod
it’s the age of the helmet yet
on such a day
yes there are clouds
they’re thinking about it
there’s a sun
reluctant to set
afternoon’s evening
and evening goes on all night
it is the day of porpoises passing
not so ostentatious though
one fin at a time
turn by like a wheel
it’s glass
and the kraken
lies deeper than thought
blue tractor gets socks wet
bringing home the boat
oak and birch and aspen
pine and fir and spruce
each of them older than dreaming
still to learn their names
a toilet grows flowers
on the front lawn
a bicycle too
on such a day
one goes hunting for lines
they’re found
and out in the open
there’s mowing the lawn
and addressing one’s flowers
they bare their chests
who whisper engines
and with whom engines speak
moss has a thirst
on such a day
man washes his rock
and after, beer
as prescribed
it is true I’m pursued
by what isn’t a bee
by what I’d call a march fly
and I’d be wrong
on such a day
it’s the idea of dinner
draws indoors
the book hasn’t been written
to hold all one could do
on just such a day
I wonder if anyone can remember
precisely when peace was declared
*
at Messen
snow stands for true mountains
a midsummer sentry
a smoky man tends barbeque
such are the voices of the picnic garden
a fjord is part of the picture too
gathered like wildflowers
we ourselves are a summer
libation
pick cherries every ripening day
the rain hasn’t come yet
but here we are,
over the rainbow
already planning for after
*
at Messen
rumble is the road
or thunder
men’s laughter
the factory’s dinner going down
the kraken waking
earth gives a shake
a train but very far
nobody knows what
*
it’s the gods in everything
like to make us guess
a crow says no, flies off
and everything’s still here
