Kari Bremnes

Once I had a lover in Berlin,
Said a frail old woman from a table next to mine.
His voice was like an ancient violin
And he spoke to me - that voice ... that voice!
I believe they call it falling for a man,
But this falling made me fly, left me soaring for the sky.
There wasn't any sense, there was no plan,
But who would trade this passion for the safety of dry land?
Not I.
Not he.

And we knew we had to travel far away,
We knew we had to disappear, where no one else could find us.
A sailing ship would take us from the bay.
Its sails would fill with an offshore wind to blind us.
We gambled our security - the future for the now,
Sailed off toward the storm, safety cast aside.
We'd gone beyond what reason would allow,
But who could tame the tidal wave and tell it where to go?
Not I.
Not you.

Reality then brought it to an end,
Said the frail old woman, shaking underneath her hat.
A decent set of values is no friend.
It's reason now that blinds us, please believe!
And passion is not willing to be steered.
Purity alone won't fill a ship's wide sails.
Life will sometimes bring what we most feared,
And who could ever say when to go or when to stay?
Not you.
Not we.

I carried that dream as a girl,
Dreaming by a fjord so deep,
That my destiny called
From the coastal ship far out at sea.

Always at evening,
That's when that ship called out to me,
Saying she heads north
As I ran to the harbour to see.

A feast coming in,
An Arabian night with a taste of salt,
Fond good-byes and Good Lord! There you are!
These boxes with cats, these eggs that must not be broken,
These sailors' cries and rope thrown down
On the dock for tying,
Seeing the world itself arriving.

Made of steel and fairytales.
What a sight!
The Captain's black uniform with stripes gold and bright.
Happiness coming in.
Happiness coming through the dark.

I saw that she was rather young.
She was standing at the counter of a dusty old arcade.
She must have weighed at least 200 pounds,
But everything she sold was slim and finely made.
I'd seen nothing so enchanting for so long.
This was Montreal, I was hiding from the rain.
She wore black fingernails and went right into a song,
As she slowly came to me with this refrain:

I'm selling all my mother's clothes:
Her lingerie, her skirts and coats.
Her beauty was as pure as this affair is sordid.
I'm selling all my mother's clothes,
And, yes, I find it morbid.

She chain-smoked as she handled dark velour.
These hand-made things she showed me in her dramatic fashion.
She saw for me these clothes held an allure,
The moire and silk seemed to stir my passion.
It was Dior, it was Chanel, a certain cut, a seamless seam.
The black-nailed girl could clearly see my weakness.
A weakness fed by a strange and sensuous dream.
With a joyless laugh she said those lines again:

I'm selling all my mother's clothes:
Her lingerie, her skirts and coats.
Her beauty was as pure as this affair is sordid.
I'm selling all my mother's clothes,
And, yes, I find it morbid.

She showed me last a handbag made of velvet.
In it were expensive stones like amethyst and jade.
Black sapphires had been shaped just like a rose.
For the funeral of a lover her mother had them made.
It probably was Paris where he died, is what she said,
As this big forgotten daughter glanced towards the window.
I'll sell the sapphires cheap, the man's long dead!
With a vacant laugh she gave those lines again:

I'm selling all my mother's clothes:
Her lingerie, her skirts and coats.
Her beauty was as pure as this affair is sordid.
I'm selling all my mother's clothes,
And, yes, I find it morbid.

See the seagulls sitting by the waterfront,
Like sculptures made of stone,
Watching summer good times fly away
And leave the seagulls all alone.
Birds are like words:
Suddenly away.
Birds are like words:
Some of them will stay.

See the empty seat beneath me
Thinking of the days I spent with you.
Memories of what we said are circling in my mind
And make me blue.
Words are like birds:
Suddenly away.
Words are like birds:
Some of them will stay.

Day is the veil that you can't pull aside like a curtain
Sewn from a black cloth - a cloth that no-one can see.
No-one can take it away and you know this for certain.
No-one can help you, you might as well let the cloth be.
You no longer are able to see, you no longer have foresight.
And you can't part the curtain, there's no way to know what's in store.
You're stranded in time, a ghost that is lost in the twilight.
And the curtain is woven from the memories of time gone before.

Day is blank paper, but paper you never can write on,
Unlike the letters I hold that you sent to me.
But the words that you've written are buried speaking to no-one,
And words that have lost all their soul should never be.
You knew from the first touch this way was a pathway to danger.
You didn't take time to close all the doors and the gate.
Feelings can bring you so near and then leave you a stranger,
And things are not what they appear but find you too late.

Day is the thief that you don't have the courage to track down,
Who forces himself into all of the rooms of your home.
He comes to your garden, your secrets - he's quiet! Makes no sound.
He steals all the answers and leaves all the questions alone.
And you know there'll be days, just like the ones that you once knew.
And you know that love is really a question of thirst.
And you know that one day there will by a new power within you.
But you dread all the days in between that will seek you out first.

Down where wave on rock is breaking,
Melodies are blending
Everything from summer song
To symphonies contending.
The jagged rocks must fall away,
All broken into sand,
But also there are smaller stones
To cradle in your hand.

Down where wave on rock is breaking,
The earth in constant motion
On the shoreline's narrow strip
The ever-flowing ocean.
We can always find our way,
If we understand
The constant tide of battle rage
Between the sea and land.

Down where wave on rock is breaking,
In the slanting moolight,
Sails that shine like silver
Moving through the quiet midnight.
Never-ending ebb and flow
With new tales being spun.
The music between sea and stone
And moon and stars and sun.

We'd been walking so far,
Where the houses lean together,
On cobblestones not made for my high heels.
As we drifted along,
Slowed down by the weather,
No need to talk
About the way that summer feels.

We went into a doorway
To a run-down bar beneath the ground,
To a place that the sun has never been.

Coming in from the day
To the darkness and the shadows,
The feeble lights could not dispel the gloom.
Slowly making our way,
We found an empty table.
The winter seemed to live inside this room.

This Copenhagen cavern:
A run-down bar beneath the ground,
A place that the sun has never seen.

Like a frail figurine,
She walked between the tables
With a vacant look and thinly braided hair.
She was all of sixteen,
Straight from a Dickens fable,
She was pleading for some money
For her fare.

The Copenhagen waiter
Wanted her back on the street,
But some impulse
Made us offer her a chair.

As I started to speak
I sensed a strong emotion.
She said I am from northern Norway, too,
She had come for a week,
A journey with her school friends
But a year had passed her by
Before she knew.

She said: I come from Senja,
A village on the outer coast,
But the climate here
Affected me much more.

Walking into the lane,
Looking back in through the window,
The light of day now seemed a little strange.
Would she leave for the train,
Would she stay another winter?
She moved betweeen the tables
Begging chance.

We'd been walking so far
Through cobblestone back alleys
No need to talk about
The way that summer feels.

You approach the town quite slowly from the water
As the dawn arrives and bids the night farewell.
You will feel the cold and hunger in your spirit
As you see the church tower mirrored in the swell.
You will sail around the cliff and watch the sun rise
Shining light upon the high and sleepy hill,
As the town awakes, washed in light and shadow
While the other towns still sleep so dark and still.

You will stand onboard and watch them throw the tow line.
You can see the men who catch it on the pier.
And you feel a chill as you leave the railing.
On down the bridge-way, the town is very near.
You might hear the hammers pounding in the shipyard
Or watch the boats leave toward the fishing ground.
Will they discover if it's worth this early journey,
To rise up before the other sleeping towns?

You must wave farewell to those who've stayed onboard now
Be on your voyage. There are secrets you must know
In this town that knew you once and held you closely,
That owned your morning hours so long ago.
You approach the town quite slowly from the water.
You're a stranger, somehow, as you walk ashore
In this town that hides old images and stories.
Maybe new songs that you will soon explore.

We should have begun again.
If we knew then what we know now.
Should have known what really counts
And what was unimportant, somehow.
Should have ventured cautiously,
Not quickly, so abrupt,
Closed our eyes, count to ten.
We should have begun again.

Being together so quiet and still.
Being who we are, so fulfilled.
Not talking, not laughing, not crying.
A riddle beside another riddle.

We should have begun again.
Should have learned each other's
Different ways of seeing.
Should have known that heart and soul
Will have their way above our own well-being.
We should have been more giving,
But the lessons pass too soon.
Turn to Buddha, turn to Zen.
We should have begun again.

Being together so quiet and still.
Being who we are, so fulfilled.
Not talking, not laughing, not crying.
A riddle beside another riddle.

We should have begun again.
Should have played a little more before life caught us.
Should have known about the pain
To enjoy the wealth of gifts that life had brought us.
To search for something to believe in.
What's a dead end, what's a door?
When to fight, when to make amends?
We should have begun again.

Being together so quiet and still.
Being who we are, so fulfilled.
Not talking, not laughing, not crying.
A riddle beside another riddle.

I would like to give you a song.
Not the one that goes you must never leave me baby
And I hate to see you go.
Not the one with a refrain
About your loving arms again,
So I'll celebrate your beauty.
But the words are hard to find.
They've been used a hundred times
And somehow don't belong.
Still I would like to give you a song.

I would like to give you a song.
Not the kind baby you must take me to the sea,
I know where the ocean lies.
I don't want to tell you that my heart belongs to Daddy,
It is you who are my prize.
Maybe I should sing of how your love thrills me here and now.
That you are, when you are there, the way you are.
But the cliches have their way.
Everything I try to say seems wrong.
Still I would like to give you a song.

I always trusted my protection
Such a long time to be sheltered, to be safe
I always trusted my protection
Always, always

I was a Sunday's child
Forever walking in the sunlight
Tender voices, loving hands, a coat against the cold
I had immunity from danger
A world so young, songs unsung and tales untold

I always trusted my protection
Such a long time to be sheltered, to be safe
I always trusted my protection
Always, always

I thought that you can always find protection. I grew up with my father and mother, with my sister and brother, good people, kind people. They gave me food, clothes, shelter, they kept me safe from the burning sun and the winter cold. They watched over me and made good choices for me, the best choices. I came to believe that I would always be protected in this way, that it was the natural state of things. When I went out into the world I presumed I carried their protection with me like a shield, like a membrane and it led me to seek out the good in everything. Oh, but the most shocking realisation I've ever had is that the grown-ups are left and there is no protection.

I always trusted my protection
Such a long time to be sheltered, to be safe
I always trusted my protection
Always, always

The only protector you have in this world is your own will. And so it will be as when the lion lies down with the lamb, they're supposed to rest peacefully side-by-side but the lamb won't get much rest. If your own will weakens, what have you left? Instincts, intuitions, feelings to make your choices with. You're unprotected. Your will is your coat in the storm and if it fits, you're lucky. You can easily end up with the wrong coat. There should be a fitting room to try it on before you agree to take it. How can I get a new one, my old will is so weakened, have you got a second hand one, preferably strong? Some have weak wills that forever fail them. Some have a strong will that's never tested, but so it goes.

I always trusted my protection
Such a long time to be sheltered, to be safe
I always trusted my protection
Always, always

Living alone in a high little room
She can see to the street from her window
She likes it a lot but she just can't imagine it day after day
She's waiting to open the boxes of books and to put all the clothes where they should go
The walls may be bare, but she still can't decide if she's ready to stay
She wants to be open and ready for something to knock on her door
She's paying the rent but that doesn't keep her from hoping for more
You'd say she'd just come, but that's not the case
Can it really be years since she came to this place

Going to work on a slow-moving tram
Everyone needs to work for a living
She likes sitting here, she can plan, she can dream, and be taken away
Being a writer is what she might do if she lived in a world more forgiving
She works on a story, she works on a book or it could be a play
There's someone she knows who knows someone in publishing,
maybe she could
She'll call when she's finished the dialogue, maybe then, maybe he would
She says she will call, but at her own pace
Can it really be years since she came to this place

Waiting for signs and she knows there'll be signs
There'll be omens and so she is waiting
It may be tomorrow, it may be today, but it's happening soon
Out in the sunlight and under the streetlight and inside her room she is waiting
Watching the shift in the seasons, the wax and the wane of the moon
Watching the text on her mobile, he's asking her out for a drink
She wants to say yes but it's never that easy, she needs time to think
And summer is passed, and she still doesn't ring
Alone in her room, can it really be spring

They went to see Paris it was the 17th of May
And now as ever she was late
And now as ever she complained about the seating
And the salmon was the worst she ever ate
He was a little bit too easy
A little bit too happy she could see
He sees them sitting at a sidewalk restaurant
And it is spring and they are young and they are free
She said that if we hope to see it all within a week
We better make a plan and keep it steady
He said: I'm having a fantastic time already

They were going to a party just before the end of March
And now as ever she was late
And now as ever she's unhappy with her hair
And wonders how he got his shoes in such a state
He was a little bit too easy
A little bit too happy for her taste
He sees them opening a bottle of champagne
And they are joining in a lovers' sweet embrace
She said that if this evening was to turn out as they planned
He'd better play his part and play it steady
He said: I'm having a fantastic time already

He was about to leave her, it was February fifth
And now as ever she was late
And now as ever she would speak of their affair,
She says, she simply can't accept this as their fate
He was a little bit too easy
A little bit too happy, she would moan
He sees himself in an apartment down the road
Where he can dream his dreams in peace and be alone
She said to him I'll show you we can have good times again
But only if you play the straight and steady
He said: I'm having a fantastic time already

I wouldn't use it often
Not even every day
I have full control
It is a little game
It's just a little play
I have full control

I never give my number
I never give my name
I have full control
You're never gonna find me
Too close to the flame
I have full control

So smile and don't be worried
See, I'm still the girl you knew
Even though I missed you in September
Of course I will take care, sure,
Yeah, that is what I'll do
I am still the girl that you remember
And I have full control

Trying to come down
I'm staring at my skin
Waking in the night
Feeling paperthin
I'm a little shaky now,
I could use some sleep
Just a little something now
Something dark and deep
And I have full control

So smile and don't be worried
See, I'm still the girl you knew
Even though I missed you in September
Of course I will take care, sure,
Yeah, that is what I'll do
I am still the girl that you remember
And I have full control

You do not see him often
Not even every day
You have full control
It is a little game
Just a little game you play
When you have full control

I see you, your are wearing that old parka
And me, that faded jacket that I always used to wear
I can't remember now who took the picture
Or when it was I don't recall, do you remember where?
We seem so very young I have to look again
Right now I don't remember that I ever was that young
You hold your head the way that only you can do
And this is long before I slipped away from you

I see your face half-in, half-out of shadow
You didn't like the sun, you said, I liked the things you said
The look between us says we have forever
Forever isn't anymore, just everyday instead
As I took down your book this picture came to light
The one by Stanislavskij, now, do you remember that?
I still talk as if you're hearing what I say
Though it's so long ago I let you slip away

We should have begun again.
If we knew then what we know now.
Should have known what really counts
And what was unimportant, somehow.
Should have ventured cautiously,
Not quickly, so abrupt,
Closed our eyes, count to ten.
We should have begun again.

Being together so quiet and still.
Being who we are, so fulfilled.
Not talking, not laughing, not crying.
A riddle beside another riddle.

We should have begun again.
Should have learned each other's
Different ways of seeing.
Should have known that heart and soul
Will have their way above our own well-being.
We should have been more giving,
But the lessons pass too soon.
Turn to Buddha, turn to Zen.
We should have begun again.

Being together so quiet and still.
Being who we are, so fulfilled.
Not talking, not laughing, not crying.
A riddle beside another riddle.

We should have begun again.
Should have played a little more before life caught us.
Should have known about the pain
To enjoy the wealth of gifts that life had brought us.
To search for something to believe in.
What's a dead end, what's a door?
When to fight, when to make amends?
We should have begun again.

Being together so quiet and still.
Being who we are, so fulfilled.
Not talking, not laughing, not crying.
A riddle beside another riddle.

I would like to give you a song.
Not the one that goes you must never leave me baby
And I hate to see you go.
Not the one with a refrain
About your loving arms again,
So I'll celebrate your beauty.
But the words are hard to find.
They've been used a hundred times
And somehow don't belong.
Still I would like to give you a song.

I would like to give you a song.
Not the kind baby you must take me to the sea,
I know where the ocean lies.
I don't want to tell you that my heart belongs to Daddy,
It is you who are my prize.
Maybe I should sing of how your love thrills me here and now.
That you are, when you are there, the way you are.
But the cliches have their way.
Everything I try to say seems wrong.
Still I would like to give you a song.

I saw that she was rather young.
She was standing at the counter of a dusty old arcade.
She must have weighed at least 200 pounds,
But everything she sold was slim and finely made.
I'd seen nothing so enchanting for so long.
This was Montreal, I was hiding from the rain.
She wore black fingernails and went right into a song,
As she slowly came to me with this refrain:

I'm selling all my mother's clothes:
Her lingerie, her skirts and coats.
Her beauty was as pure as this affair is sordid.
I'm selling all my mother's clothes,
And, yes, I find it morbid.

She chain-smoked as she handled dark velour.
These hand-made things she showed me in her dramatic fashion.
She saw for me these clothes held an allure,
The moire and silk seemed to stir my passion.
It was Dior, it was Chanel, a certain cut, a seamless seam.
The black-nailed girl could clearly see my weakness.
A weakness fed by a strange and sensuous dream.
With a joyless laugh she said those lines again:

I'm selling all my mother's clothes:
Her lingerie, her skirts and coats.
Her beauty was as pure as this affair is sordid.
I'm selling all my mother's clothes,
And, yes, I find it morbid.

She showed me last a handbag made of velvet.
In it were expensive stones like amethyst and jade.
Black sapphires had been shaped just like a rose.
For the funeral of a lover her mother had them made.
It probably was Paris where he died, is what she said,
As this big forgotten daughter glanced towards the window.
I'll sell the sapphires cheap, the man's long dead!
With a vacant laugh she gave those lines again:

I'm selling all my mother's clothes:
Her lingerie, her skirts and coats.
Her beauty was as pure as this affair is sordid.
I'm selling all my mother's clothes,
And, yes, I find it morbid.

See the seagulls sitting by the waterfront,
Like sculptures made of stone,
Watching summer good times fly away
And leave the seagulls all alone.
Birds are like words:
Suddenly away.
Birds are like words:
Some of them will stay.

See the empty seat beneath me
Thinking of the days I spent with you.
Memories of what we said are circling in my mind
And make me blue.
Words are like birds:
Suddenly away.
Words are like birds:
Some of them will stay.