Rules of love: "Surrender"

  Årets första Utblick gör en mjukstart. Det blir poesi av en välkänd skådespelare, en invigning av ett nytt skolbibliotek i England och så har jag tittat igenom juldikterna hos nättidskriften "Ink, sweat and tears".

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  James Edward Franco, f. 1978 i Palo Alto i Kalifornien, är en amerikansk filmskådespelare och regissör.
   1999 fick han sitt genombrott med rollen som Daniel Desario i TV-serien Nollor och nördar. Sedan medverkade han i Spider-Man, Spider-Man 2 och Spider-Man 3.
  Riktigt känd blev han genom rollen som Tristan i filmen om den medeltida kärlekshistorien Tristan och Isolde (2006). 2010 gestaltade han den amerikanske 1900-talspoeten Allen Ginsberg i Howl.
  2011 nominerades Franco till en Oscar för rollen som Aron Ralston i 127 timmar. Samma år var han även värd på galan tillsammans med Anne Hathaway.

  Han diktdebuterade 2014 med boken "Directing Herbert White". Flera av dikterna i boken har tidigare publicerats i antologier och tidskrifter. Nyligen har han kommit ut med ytterligare en diktsamling, "Straight James/Gay James".

James Franco

When I hit thirty-four, by James Franco
(from Directing Herbert White : poems. Minneapolis, Minnesota : Graywolf Press, [2014].)

I looked around for love
And I knew by then
That love wasn't worship,
That love was ease.

Love was the smooth river
Of forgiveness that takes all
Obstacles, pollution and debris
(Love is of man, he sets the rules),

Pushes them downstream
And leaves them in the ocean.
I like the beer bottles that collect
Along the shore, the trash

From diaper boxes and Clorox.
These are rainbow-colored punctuations
Stuck into nature, man-made things
Corroded by my love.

Sometimes things are washed
Clean as when a hurricane
Moves through, sucking up houses
As if they were cardboard.

Love is not of man;
Nature sets the rules.
I've lived a life;
I've learned a few things

And this is a new lesson.
It says, surrender.

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  I början av december invigdes ett nytt skolbibliotek vid Healey Junior, Infants and Nursery School i Batley, West Yorkshire. Till invigningen var barnbokspoeten Conrad Burdekin inbjuden. Han genomförde workshops med årskurs 2 och årskurs 3 och ledde en poesipresentation vid den gemensamma skolsamlingen. Jag måste säga att det låter mäktigt när man läser följande rader:

The new library features thousands of new books as well as new furniture.

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I'm a Superhero, by Conrad Burdekin
(from The Baked Bean Queen. The King's England Press, 2013.)

I’m a superhero
I do amazing feats
Like shooting laser beams
From my superhero feet

I’m a superhero
I fly right up to space
And when I see a bad guy
I blast him in the face

I’m awesome, I’m mega
I’m groovy, I’m cool
The bestest superhero
In Superhero School

I’m a superhero
I’m faster than a car
I’m quicker than a speedboat
I’m brighter than a star

I’m a superhero
I wrestle with my toes
And sneeze on all the baddies
With my super hero nose

I’m awesome, I’m mega
I’m groovy, I’m cool
The bestest superhero
In Superhero School

I’m a superhero
With a super hero bum
It lets out deadly smells
And makes the villains run

I’m a superhero
I’m super duper great
I’m going to rule the world
As soon as I turn eight! 

I’m awesome, I’m mega
I’m groovy, I’m cool
The bestest superhero
In Superhero School

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  Ännu en gång har jag hämtat inspiration från nättidskriften "Ink, sweat and tears". Den här gången följde jag deras dagliga diktpubliceringar under julhögtiden. Så här rubricerades exempelvis Annandag Jul: 

On the Fourth Day of Christmas we bring you Katherine Stansfield and Reuben Woolley.

Katherine Stansfields dikt gillade jag och den vänder sig till en ung publik. Hon bokdebuterade 2014 med "Playing House" (Seren Publishing). Hon har även publicerats online inom The Guardians serie "Poem of the week".

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No room at the inn, by Katherine Stansfield (f. 1983)
(from Ink, sweat and tears. Published December 26th, 2015.)
                       
All the animals in the animal basket
wanted to go: Stegosaurus,
polar bears, Lego dog.
We let in a camel and a donkey
only on sufferance. They watched
from the back, blocked by pandas.

The crib was crammed: shoe-box
size, wooden, cotton wool snow
glued to the tin-foiled top. Our desert
in the dining room was cold.
Stacks of straw kept everyone
warm but because we wouldn’t do wisps
we lost baby Jesus early on.

The angel with a ‘gloria’ sash lashed
to the stable door was meant to be
ever-descending. We spent Christmas
knocking her off on the way
to the kitchen and having to rehang
her chipped china robe.

Each night we said sleep tight, Lego dog,
sleep tight, panda family, sleep tight,
Joseph and Mary, but when
we’d climbed the wooden hill
disaster struck our Bethlehem: the cat –
crib-fancier, straw-lover, jealous, always,
of religious icons – pushed
herself in, knocked everyone out.