Bengt O Björklund May Poet of the Month

Biography:

All I do today is a result of all my years spent in Turkish prisons late sixties early seventies. I wrote my first poem in the summer of 1969. A poem inspired by the Bengali poet Ravindranath Tagore. He got the Nobel prize in literature in 1913. His romantic and loving style struck a note within me and I started writing long poems of devotion to life. Strange one might think in such a place. But the setting was perfect. We were a group of men from various backgrounds and countries doing poetry and music. We all read a lot. All our books were in English so I started to write in English. I still do. 55 years later. Other influences in those early years were William Blake and Dylan Thomas.

Today at 75 I live in a house outside Stockholm with my wife Gertrude. One daughter, Tuva, still lives with us. A privilege. I’ll be in the US between April 25 and May 2 doing readings in Corning, Rochester and New Albany. My new collection of poetry ”If there is no tomorrow” will be released. Soon ”days of dark thunder” will be released by Venetian Spider Press. I have a group in Sweden that puts music to my poetry. It’s called Beat Poet Society. We have just released or first album ”Ricochet of a Virus. On all musical platforms. The photo is from last year’s National Beat Poetry Foundation’s poetry festival in Connecticut last year.

Backstory:

We are publishing three of Bengt’s poems. There is a short backstory for each, the poems are not titled

The first one, obviously, is a comment on what’s going on.
The second one, a love poem to the woman who have spent almost thirty years with me.
The last one came to me as I was pondering on my younger days in Amsterdam, Copenhagen and London during the seventies.

there’s an old car
rusty and dead
on a frozen field
waiting for battle
two men sit in the car
dividing the world
between them
the shadows are long
the wind is broken
the two men
turn the ground
into tears
hope is not an option

there are times
when you walk next to me
in loud silence
whispering of storms
we once created
when I can hear your skin
bones and all
raging like an evening raga
furiously fighting
for a place among the gifted
the in solace talented
in grief baptized
just to be visible and alive
and I can hear the flow
of your hot intent
as if on a mission of hope
leaning hard against the wind
dropping all pretense
in facing the day
so full of scars and bad tissue
so impregnated
with dark eyes and gestures
of hollow hate and disgust
yes there are times
when you walk next to me
and our days
furiously fall like leaves
faster and faster
when I put your heart
In my old hand
and sing for you
of love and peace and the I

I remember boisterous days
body blues tangled up
in apartments all across town
sweaty mornings panting
beams of harsh sunshine sliding
through dirty window panes
the noise of slow traffic mumbling
vailing whale dying in pain
banshee seagulls screaming
above dark water silence
I whispered you and it was good
the light smelled of solar systems
far beyond the city limits

I was young then lining my pockets
with stellar dawns on the run
grazing the sky and any old street
just to make sure I was not alone
I harnessed winds and the wire
a soporific dream state was induced
every time a bird fell on my bed
days were infinite nights a mystery
longing was a pale mistress
from the wild underground
the world was a bed by the window