It took almost photo finish during the second day of competition. Highest point of the jury was 18 and the lowest was 12. Just six points difference between the most and least liked.
Their choice of the day was Cosmopolite, by Durs Grünbein (Team Saxony). Mats Svensson (member of jury) gave this justification for his choice of favorite poem:
There is a new way of tackling the theme of the trip, partly by time and partly by deflecting the idealized image of travelling as something natural good and as a project of fulfillment.
 |
| Dresden Main Station |
The second day's results put Saxony in the lead of the final, in halftime.
Score:
| Team | Content | Language | Day 2 | Total |
| Sachsen (Saxony) | 8 | 3 | 11 | 21 |
| Iceland | 7 | 3 | 10 | 19 |
| Copenhagen/Malmoe | 3 | 3 | 6 | 17 |
| Amsterdam | 5 | 2 | 7 | 15 |
| Vancouver | 6 | 3 | 9 | 15 |
| Utah | 4 | 2 | 6 | 11 |
| Zuid-Holland | 1 | 3 | 4 | 11 |
| Dublin | 2 | 2 | 4 | 8 |
***
Music is the theme for the third day's poems.
Jazz / Volker Braun (excerpt)
(Aus Provokation für mich : Gedichte. Halle (Saale) : Mitteldeutscher Verlag, 1965.)
Das ist das Geheimnis des Jazz:
Der Bass bricht dem erstarrten Orchester aus.
Das Schlagzeug zertrommelt die geistlosen Lieder.
Das Klavier seziert den Kadaver Gehorsam.
Das Saxophon zersprengt die Fessel Partitur:
A Christmas childhood / Patrick Kavanagh (excerpt)
(Från The Faber book of contemporary Irish poetry / edited by Paul Muldoon. Boston ; Faber and Faber, 1986.)
My father played the melodeon
Outside at our gate;
There were stars in the morning east
And they danced to his music.
Across the wild bogs his melodeon called
To Lennons and Callans.
As I pulled on my trousers in a hurry
I knew some strange thing had happened.
Outside in the cow-house my mother
Made the music of milking;
The light of her stable-lamp was a star
And the frost of Bethlehem made it twinkle.
There was a man … / Tonnus Oosterhoff (excerpt)
(Från Dutch and Flemish issue / edited by Theo Hermans. Modern poetry in translation 12. London : King's College, 1997. “There was a man …” translated by Deborah ffoulkes.)
There was a man – nothing more than a thought,
a song of the times, strict upbringing,
chaste as the morning – who dreamt (cry me a river)
of performing naked.
In the Oasis Bar,
where he sometimes went dressed in a shirt,
where people knew him.
..
He expected to be exposed
by impersonal music, by artificial light;
but not everyone is an impostor.
His nakedness retreated inside, humming little verses,
to tempt him. The man, a song of the times,
a dancing man.
Ur Jazz-oratorium : I den lille by / Klaus Rifbjerg (excerpt)
(Från Jazz-oratorium : i den lille by / Klaus Rifbjerg ; översättning av Per Svenson. Malmö : Kolibri ; 2003.)
Nu ska jag spela dig du gamla
Blues-gurka.
Kom nu och lyssna på mig!
Har du nånsin varit i ett växthus
När de långa gröna skojarna hänger
Mellan bladen och det är
Hett hett hett?
Har du nånsin tagit steget
Från det banala
In i exotismen och känt det glatta
Gröna skinnet mot dina händer
Medan fukten stod upp i näsan som en gaslåga
Tänd och giftigt brinnande och våt
Och på samma gång vild och full av egg?
Coda: Kind of Blue / Larry Levis (excerpt)
(Från The selected Levis. [Pittsburgh, Pa.] : University of Pittsburgh Press, 2000.)
My name is Mr. John Coltrane,
Sweet insolence, & rain.
I don't come back again.
And Am I Blue? So what? You think I didn't know what time it
was? said the trumpet.
Take her hair, some smoke & snow, & give it all one name. Style it
as you please
Take someone who can't stop screaming, the el overhead, the sky,
& give it a name.
Take Charlie Parker's grave all overgrown with weeds in Kansas
City. Add nothing,
Except an ocher tint of shame. May all your Christmases be white
& Bird be still
In L.A., gone, broken, insane.
Swing Ding / Eiríkur Örn Norðdahl (excerpt)
(Från Audioproduktion: Literaturwerkstatt Berlin 2010. Translation: The Author)
A boy was sung to sleep at night
by a hungry maiden:
“Walking thong, bush of assembly,
swing ding, Deng Xiaoping”.
A boy was sung awake
by a young maiden:
“Young runt, misnamed
swing ding, Deng Xiaoping”
A pole goes in, goal! goal!
sings the song and cries:
“Poor thing, little bitty-boy
swing ding, Deng Xiaoping”
Pavane / Anna Enquist
(First published in Poetry International, 2013. Translation: David Colmer.)
Round, choral, sonata. The notes
are bricks to build yourself a home:
the sarabande, your heartbeat, your breath.
The pavane fits like skin, the requiem
forms a harmonious carpet. No house
is sturdier, no structure of time more solid.
She too had papered her walls
with music. On the street, surrounded
by uproar and stench, was she cradled by song?
Pergolesi and Prince. Cushioned
by cobblestones she sank,
safe and warm, in her cage of sound.
Conflating memories while listening to ”Day in, day out” by Billie Holiday / Brad Cran (excerpt)
(Från Ink on paper. Gibsons, BC : Nightwood Editions, 2013.)
…
Above all my grandfather liked the music
of Tex Beneke and Glenn Miller.
At university we listened to Herbie Hancock
playing "Cantaloupe Island" over and over.
Then the remix with Pee Wee Marquette.
I danced with two women
in my living room and one asked me
to take a bath but I did not understand
until later that if I had said yes
that this could have led to sex.
Instead I declined and danced into my own head
to the music of a blue trombone.
(Aus Provokation für mich : Gedichte. Halle (Saale) : Mitteldeutscher Verlag, 1965.)
 |
| Team Sachsen (Saxony) |
Das ist das Geheimnis des Jazz:
Der Bass bricht dem erstarrten Orchester aus.
Das Schlagzeug zertrommelt die geistlosen Lieder.
Das Klavier seziert den Kadaver Gehorsam.
Das Saxophon zersprengt die Fessel Partitur:
Bebt, Gelenke: wir spielen ein neues Thema aus
Wozu ich fähig bin und wessen ich bedarf: ich selbst zu sein –
hier will ich es sein: ich singe mich selbst.
Und aus den Trümmern des dunklen Bombasts Akkord
Aus dem kahlen Notenstrauch reckt sich was her über uns
Herzschlag Banjo, Mundton der Saxophone:
Reckt sich unsere Harmonie auf: bewegliche Einheit -
Jeder spielt sein Bestes aus zum gemeinsamen Thema.
Das ist die Musik der Zukunft: jeder ist ein Schöpfer!
***
A Christmas childhood / Patrick Kavanagh (excerpt)
(Från The Faber book of contemporary Irish poetry / edited by Paul Muldoon. Boston ; Faber and Faber, 1986.)
 |
| Team Dublin |
My father played the melodeon
Outside at our gate;
There were stars in the morning east
And they danced to his music.
Across the wild bogs his melodeon called
To Lennons and Callans.
As I pulled on my trousers in a hurry
I knew some strange thing had happened.
Outside in the cow-house my mother
Made the music of milking;
The light of her stable-lamp was a star
And the frost of Bethlehem made it twinkle.
***
There was a man … / Tonnus Oosterhoff (excerpt)
(Från Dutch and Flemish issue / edited by Theo Hermans. Modern poetry in translation 12. London : King's College, 1997. “There was a man …” translated by Deborah ffoulkes.)
 |
| Team Zuid-Holland |
There was a man – nothing more than a thought,
a song of the times, strict upbringing,
chaste as the morning – who dreamt (cry me a river)
of performing naked.
In the Oasis Bar,
where he sometimes went dressed in a shirt,
where people knew him.
..
He expected to be exposed
by impersonal music, by artificial light;
but not everyone is an impostor.
His nakedness retreated inside, humming little verses,
to tempt him. The man, a song of the times,
a dancing man.
***
Ur Jazz-oratorium : I den lille by / Klaus Rifbjerg (excerpt)
(Från Jazz-oratorium : i den lille by / Klaus Rifbjerg ; översättning av Per Svenson. Malmö : Kolibri ; 2003.)
 |
| Team Öresund Copenhagen/Malmoe |
Nu ska jag spela dig du gamla
Blues-gurka.
Kom nu och lyssna på mig!
Har du nånsin varit i ett växthus
När de långa gröna skojarna hänger
Mellan bladen och det är
Hett hett hett?
Har du nånsin tagit steget
Från det banala
In i exotismen och känt det glatta
Gröna skinnet mot dina händer
Medan fukten stod upp i näsan som en gaslåga
Tänd och giftigt brinnande och våt
Och på samma gång vild och full av egg?
***
Coda: Kind of Blue / Larry Levis (excerpt)
(Från The selected Levis. [Pittsburgh, Pa.] : University of Pittsburgh Press, 2000.)
 |
| Team Utah |
My name is Mr. John Coltrane,
Sweet insolence, & rain.
I don't come back again.
And Am I Blue? So what? You think I didn't know what time it
was? said the trumpet.
Take her hair, some smoke & snow, & give it all one name. Style it
as you please
Take someone who can't stop screaming, the el overhead, the sky,
& give it a name.
Take Charlie Parker's grave all overgrown with weeds in Kansas
City. Add nothing,
Except an ocher tint of shame. May all your Christmases be white
& Bird be still
In L.A., gone, broken, insane.
***
Swing Ding / Eiríkur Örn Norðdahl (excerpt)
(Från Audioproduktion: Literaturwerkstatt Berlin 2010. Translation: The Author)
 |
| Team Iceland |
A boy was sung to sleep at night
by a hungry maiden:
“Walking thong, bush of assembly,
swing ding, Deng Xiaoping”.
A boy was sung awake
by a young maiden:
“Young runt, misnamed
swing ding, Deng Xiaoping”
A pole goes in, goal! goal!
sings the song and cries:
“Poor thing, little bitty-boy
swing ding, Deng Xiaoping”
***
Pavane / Anna Enquist
(First published in Poetry International, 2013. Translation: David Colmer.)
 |
| Team Amsterdam |
Round, choral, sonata. The notes
are bricks to build yourself a home:
the sarabande, your heartbeat, your breath.
The pavane fits like skin, the requiem
forms a harmonious carpet. No house
is sturdier, no structure of time more solid.
She too had papered her walls
with music. On the street, surrounded
by uproar and stench, was she cradled by song?
Pergolesi and Prince. Cushioned
by cobblestones she sank,
safe and warm, in her cage of sound.
***
Conflating memories while listening to ”Day in, day out” by Billie Holiday / Brad Cran (excerpt)
(Från Ink on paper. Gibsons, BC : Nightwood Editions, 2013.)
 |
| Team Vancouver |
…
Above all my grandfather liked the music
of Tex Beneke and Glenn Miller.
At university we listened to Herbie Hancock
playing "Cantaloupe Island" over and over.
Then the remix with Pee Wee Marquette.
I danced with two women
in my living room and one asked me
to take a bath but I did not understand
until later that if I had said yes
that this could have led to sex.
Instead I declined and danced into my own head
to the music of a blue trombone.
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