tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36568732011-04-21T19:14:21.143-07:00PoemsWelcome to the poetry blog. I hold writing very close to my heart as it has always been the first and the most immediate way of expressing myself. One of my favorite writers Arundhati Roy said ‘Sometimes I need to write to think’. I share her experience very much. To write poetry one has to be very honest with one’s experience and at the same time be willing to push the boundaries of one’s imagination. It is a place where real and the unreal meet. I hope you enjoy being there!Margareta Kernhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754589624174510491noreply@blogger.comBlogger201100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656873.post-72890006141564894542007-07-22T14:03:00.000-07:002007-07-22T14:07:48.214-07:00love @ the museumthere is a love affair happeningamongst the staff at the museumamongst Titians and Venusesamongst Van Dykes and Penisesthey found each otherhe gently brushes offthe dust from hernavy blue jacketgentle nudge makes the invisiblespeckles to hurl downwardsand deposit themselveson the flooror the chairlucky ones making itto the nearest paintingwhere they hope to stayfor another Margareta Kernhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754589624174510491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656873.post-1173045501853595252007-03-04T13:55:00.000-08:002007-03-04T13:58:21.863-08:00being me with youwhy I thinkI can't be mefullywith youwhen all youwantis for me to be mealwayswith you2007Margareta Kernhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754589624174510491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656873.post-1169327932610780722007-01-20T13:06:00.000-08:002007-01-20T13:18:52.626-08:00GuiltI woke up with a guilt ridden mindand tried to rememberwhat I had done wrong last nightI flicked through momentslike pages of a booklookingfor signsof my inappropriatenesswhen I could not findthe evidence neededinstead of releasing my selfI performedlike a judgea movementwith a hammerand thumpedthe painfurther inMargareta Kernhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754589624174510491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656873.post-1150296638119935222006-06-14T07:50:00.000-07:002006-06-14T07:50:38.120-07:00TelevisionWhen my grandparentsreturned from Germanythey settled in the back part of the house.Most of their time is spentin the living room wheremy grandfather sits in the armchairopposite the televisionmy grandmother on the couchsitting beside him.Sports channels are on all the time.The running commentary in Germandisrupted only by Mexican soapsmy grandmother follows fervently.Sunday morning Margareta Kernhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754589624174510491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656873.post-1150296596975988402006-06-14T07:47:00.000-07:002006-06-14T07:49:56.986-07:00Summer LunchIt was time for the barbeque again.My auntie, my mother and my grandmotherbuzzed around the kitchensolemnly preparing:my mother chopped the tomatoesmy grandmother grated the cheesemy auntie mixed the minced meat and fresh eggswith her bare hands.My uncle walked pastcarrying two kilograms of raw meatplaced on a traylike a trophy he hunted downearlier that morning.My grandfatherwalked Margareta Kernhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754589624174510491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656873.post-1150296321044358992006-06-14T07:44:00.000-07:002006-06-14T07:46:08.336-07:00My mother lost her tearsShe cried so muchand for so longthat she dried up.Doctors in Belgradesaid she suffersfrom an unusual condition.They gave it a Latin namesomething hard to pronounceand even harder to carry around.When my mother returnedshe looked it upin her large medical lexicon.Big long words describedhow and why and even whenit happened.In details they portrayedeach night and each Margareta Kernhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754589624174510491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656873.post-1150296088664658312006-06-14T07:38:00.000-07:002006-06-14T07:41:28.666-07:00EinbahnStrasse (One way street)Excitedlyshe jumped in the carand started giving us directions.Friedrichstrasse, nach links,dann gerade ausdann rechts…Her face looked so beautiful.Her eyes so bright.My sister spoke perfect German.In between gerade ausand nach linkspointing at Leidlshe said:Ich habe einen Hut gefundenim Einkaufswagenwo ich ihn liesim Supermarkt.Oooo so sweeeeet!I saidyou found a Margareta Kernhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754589624174510491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656873.post-1150295874046845862006-06-14T07:36:00.000-07:002006-06-14T07:37:54.046-07:00ProtectionWe must protectthe spaceinside our fluid wallswhose plasterbelongs to no oneand the groundon which it standscollects no rentWe must look afterthat spacewhere softness and tendernessare the highest assetsand can not be convertedeasily for profitsWe must guardthis spaceas if it is the last oneuntouchedunspoiledand free…………………………..My lovethat is the spacefor whichyou can not getmortgage2006Margareta Kernhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754589624174510491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656873.post-1150295797872364232006-06-14T07:35:00.000-07:002006-06-14T07:36:37.883-07:00A Place off Essex StreetWalking up Essex Streeta slight tingle in my bellyknowledgeI will soon be arrivingat the place I lefteight years ago.It is my first time there.And everyone seems happyto see me againI am embracedby the arms of friends.That used to be.Like two laneson the motorwayour livesrun in parallel.2006Margareta Kernhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754589624174510491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656873.post-1150295549476291682006-06-14T07:28:00.000-07:002006-06-14T07:32:29.476-07:00is it not enough to say 'it is plain wrong to kill an innocent man'judgments I am not here to passprotocols I do not wish to fulfillcaughtbetween me and the othera misunderstandingon a slippery scalewhere time does not lendits comforting spaceI runto not get caughtbetweenthe politicsandmatters of the heartjudgment I am not here to passas it has already been stampedwith a loud bangall was Margareta Kernhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754589624174510491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656873.post-1144487126569568872006-04-08T02:02:00.000-07:002006-04-08T02:05:26.816-07:00I will be reading poetry this Sunday, at Foyles Gallery, London details below:Margareta Kernhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754589624174510491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656873.post-1136557566696176162006-01-06T06:23:00.000-08:002006-01-06T07:05:32.186-08:00GrowingI grow by looking at placeswhich hurtlooking at them intentlypurpesfullyuntil a movement occursa physical kicklike carrying a childa new meis borneach time I lookat placeswhich hurtI face the painand growout of it.2005Margareta Kernhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754589624174510491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656873.post-793154082005-11-08T13:13:00.000-08:002005-11-07T04:04:40.193-08:00Mother Tonguecan not writemotheryour tongue is in my earcan not hearproperlythere have been some problemsin this transmissionfrom your womb to my heartas I experience great turbulencefrom time to timelike someone wants to rip my soul apartand you won’t let them.© Margareta Kern, 1999Margareta Kernhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754589624174510491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656873.post-1131363872718536382005-11-07T03:43:00.000-08:002005-11-07T03:45:40.330-08:00How thick does my skin need to be?How thick does my skin need to be?7 inches3 inchesOr shall I speak in centimeters?5 cm10 cmor 20?Or is this still too thintoo weak to holdall false smilesOr maybe I need to speak in miles?How long a distancedoes it need to bebetween you and me?© Margareta Kern, 2005Margareta Kernhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754589624174510491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656873.post-1131363603289599852005-11-07T03:38:00.000-08:002005-11-07T03:40:03.293-08:00Hurt A memory of you Lying down Alone Puzzled Accused Trying to understand devious ways We humans stay in control. Trying to untie the knot I placed in your guts. Just because I didn't want to carry it Alone. I am sorry to have caused you pain. So unnecessary, I know So habitual, I know. Stand up my love No need to carry my burden any more Stand up and let's take a walk Gentle steps away fromMargareta Kernhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754589624174510491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656873.post-1131363516027948662005-11-07T03:37:00.000-08:002005-11-07T03:38:36.026-08:00elisabethdirty dishes must be washed!as we knowthis has becomethe normof polite behavior.elisabeth however likes to live them behind her deskin the office.no one likes herbut then againno one is like her.or are they?!space spacebeneath her deskbehind her facial maskestee lauderor something even louderI wouldn’t be able to tell you at this pointand probably not at any pointbecause elisabeth is notMargareta Kernhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754589624174510491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656873.post-1131363383800444442005-11-07T03:35:00.000-08:002005-11-07T03:36:23.803-08:00The City High heels higher than those council block of flats you see when you take a train from the City to Essex or somewhere even closer even tighter. A woman bought a dress and a jacket for one hundred and sixty seven pounds she was about to meet her boyfriend in the pub around the corner. He paid for it even though he wasn’t there. Women. High. Taking high places while wearing high heelsMargareta Kernhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754589624174510491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656873.post-1131362768643934952005-11-07T03:25:00.000-08:002005-11-07T03:26:08.646-08:00Engleskinja I pitala sam se dok smo razgovarale, kako da joj pozelim sretne Bozicnje i Novogodisnje praznike, da je poljubim dva puta u obraz ili da je zagrlim, znajuci da ce joj to biti neugodno, suvise blizu, preintiman ljudski kontakt. I kad smo se zagrlile i pozelile sve najbolje, osjecala sam njen strah u sebi, njena odvojenost je stvarala prostor izmedu nas, prostor neprimjetan pogledom, Margareta Kernhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754589624174510491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656873.post-1131362694602837612005-11-07T03:22:00.000-08:002005-11-07T03:28:21.663-08:00A New Girl In TownShe smelled on vanilla ice creamas she entered the train.And was reading a bookwith a foreign name.Was new to this townI guessedby looking at the wayshe dressed.She buried her face inside the pagesand it probably will be agesbefore she will look up.A new girl in town.© Margareta Kern, 2003Margareta Kernhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754589624174510491noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3656873.post-1131362148044869622005-11-07T03:13:00.000-08:002005-11-07T03:15:48.056-08:00A Letter To A Friend I sent it. So easy these days just press send and it is done before you know it it is gone. And so is a friend.© Margareta Kern, 2002Margareta Kernhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754589624174510491noreply@blogger.com