On an old tank ship that was so slow it felt as
if we were suspended in time, a world shrunk
only us, the ocean and the rhythmic hear beat
of the engine… and when the ship birthed, at
some god forsaken refinery, we felt overcome
by shyness seeing so many strange faces.
It was on a ship like this I met the third officer
a young man with literary ambitions, and he
succeeded on Norway´s modest literary tree.
Often interviewed, asked awkward questions
about writing and why he writes like it should
be a hidden formula.
I´m glad for his triumph, yet there is a sting in
my heart, not of rancor, but of sadness…never
having received the clarion call of acceptance.
Collections after collections have been rejected.
I feel as if I have been suspended in a fool´s time,
only the sea and me and the shore is far away.
