absurdités : jeux d’eau.



Absurdities of Perception.

To gain freedom from absurdities of the Mind,
I count my footsteps
(so silent and arhythmic)
upon the wet sand.

The crash of the waves is muffled by the
stillness of the dunes;
the saltwater anaesthetises both
nostrils and swollen feet.

I scavenge the dusk-lit shore for
lost treasures of memory, while
a solitary falcon-gull scries
the abandoned abodes of crustaceans.

One-by-one, all impulses of my brain
coagulate into one thought:
“You will never know yourself until you
become indifferent to the search.”

The jeering laughter of the gull
shatters my Revelation, triggering
my teeth to chatter in
the now-felt cold.

In vain, I retrace the shoreline
in search of my impressions, but
all existence has been cannibalised
by the froth of the moment.

Truly, my absurdities of perception
are a source of refuge:
the complacency of the sage
is the bane of the common man.

(from “Notes of a Madman”, Winston-Derek Publishers, 1987.)


Ariadne 2: Jilting at Naxos.

with the passage
of a single cloud
over the persistent sun,
the image of a victim of
psychological rape is
eternally engraved upon
the chronicles of history —
as tearing out her hair with
contorted face and gaping mouth;
and the incessant wailing of
passionate desperation yields
to rage as the near-drowned
nymph crawls from sea to land
in a half-hearted attempt
at survival.

(from “Collected poems and stories”, Cyberwit Publishing, 2005.)


Changing of the Sails.

The appearance of the Port of Pireaus
on the horizon transforms mirage into reality
as the vagabond ship rocks steadily between
the waves on the 27th day of summer.
Burning rays of sunlight fuel the fervour
of moving muscles on bare-backed men
hoisting ropes and alternating sails
from black to white, thus signalling
their triumphant return from the
grasp of death into the bosom of victory.
And at the helm stands the young hero Theseus,
staring without seeing and smiling with
non-expression: his concentration is
distracted by the solitary image of a
young woman in love, screaming his name
in vain.

(from “Collected poems and stories”, Cyberwit Publishing, 2005.)


Sea lines.

The ebbing of foam and
spray from sea lines
reveals glittering calico
pebbles and shell fragments
upon coastal sands.
During the interim of
drought and abandonment,
the brilliance of this
treasure trove is dulled
by disclosure and desiccation.
There they remain,
rather indistinguishable
from the multitudes,
and dream of baptism
by tidal reclamation.

(from “Collected poems and stories”, Cyberwit Publishing, 2005.)

badebasseng på kampen

jeux d’eau.

jeux d’eau ;
dégel du printemps :
gouttes d’eau,
parfois en cascades …
beau à regarder.
et pourtant fascinant de voir
comment ces jeux d’eau
peuvent à la fois
donner une nouvelle vie,
et nous soutenir …
mais quelque fois aussi détruire
beaucoup de ce qui est
naturel et artificiel …

— adam donaldson powell, “Jisei”, Cyberwit publishers, 2013; “Entre Nous et Eux”, Cyberwit publishers, 2017.

badebasseng på kampen6


The slow dripping of water
Upon blistered skin and flesh
Stages the final element of torture
For the deposed king as each
Drop threatens to erode more
Permanently all hope for
Recovery and revenge.
Melodic shrieks of agony
Maintain symphonic balance
Against the rhythmic trickling,
Indicative of the ironic horror
Endemic to nature’s inevitable
Triumph over civilization
And artificiality.
Perhaps the greatest severity
Is the cruelty of mortality;
For chronology minimizes
Individual humanity with
Each passing moment.

(from “Collected poems and stories”, Cyberwit Publishing, 2005.)

nordic sun


It shatters me to see you
Lying there so helplessly;
Playing the ‘waiting game’
Without judgment or choice.
Fearing life now more than death,
You transcend the impatience of desire
Through constancy of pain and
Resignation to the inevitable.
In a singular gesture of compassion,
Your pale lips force a smile
Which silences the teardrop
Skidding down my face; and
Momentarily I turn away inside myself,
Embarrassed by my own self-indulgence.
Still smiling,
You take me by the hand and
Squeeze a bit of your precious life
Into mine, as if to say:
“I know … I know …
(we all live on borrowed time).”

— adam donaldson powell, “Collected poems and stories”, Cyberwit publishers, 2005.

Toalett på kampen nr. 2
Toalett på kampen nr. 2





At each and every moment

I choose to trust in myself:

in my intentions and in my thoughts,

in my words and

in my behavior.


At each and every moment

I choose to trust in you:

in your thoughts and in your intentions,

in your words and

in your behavior.


At each and every moment

I choose to trust in

you and I together:

in our dreams,

in our plans and

in our ability to do

everything we want

to be and to do.


At each and every moment

I experience rebirth.





Spring Snow
Spring snow, oil on canvas, 50 x 50 cm., Adam Donaldson Powell, 2014.


In the guises of feminism and masculinity,
we paced and stalked definition
with the cunning of a mother lion:
’round and ’round, closer and closer,
until our precarious showdown brought us
face-to-face with insecurity and dream.
As the war-drum heartbeats of a
million Amazons prepared to vanquish
my masculinity at its first indiscretion,
I loaded my tongue with silver arrows
and mercilessly catapulted the words
‘I love you’ against your brazen shield.
And simultaneously we fell — breathless.

by Adam Donaldson Powell, from “Collected poems and stories”, 2005, Cyberwit publishing.

Gone primal, oil on canvas, 30 x 30 cm., Adam Donaldson Powell, 2014.
Gone primal, oil on canvas, 30 x 30 cm., Adam Donaldson Powell, 2014.

A real sucker.

I am a real sucker for beautiful women …
helpless goddesses, manipulating and
man-eating amazons, man-hating
nymphomaniacs with a bone to pick …
all flirtatious, and moody — “spiderwomen”
with love that gets turned on and off,
like a faucet; and vaginas that require
so much work to gain entry to that it is
almost not worth the effort. I fall for the same types of men, too. It’s complicated.



Beetlemania / Bugging out! (Oil on canvas, 30x30 cm x two paintings).
Beetlemania / Bugging out! (Oil on canvas, 30×30 cm x two paintings).


Hey you, spiderwoman.
You who are always one of the
best-dressed in the city,
but who never uses money
when you are out on the town.
Hey you, spiderwoman.
So shy and alluring that
guys chase after you until
you capture them.
Hey you, spiderwoman.
So lonely. So sad.
So afraid for yourself.
Hey you, spiderwoman.
Is that so strange, really …?

(My original Norwegian version.)

Du, edderkoppkvinne.
Som bestandig er iblant
de best kledde i byen,
men som aldri bruker
penger når du er ute.
Du, edderkoppkvinne.
Så sjenert at gutter
leter etter deg inntil
du fanger dem.
Du, edderkoppkvinne.
Så ensom. Så lei.
Så redd for deg selv.
Du edderkoppkvinne.
Er det rart, eller …?

(Spanish adaptation by Fernando Rodríguez)

Eh tú,
Mujer araña.
Que siempre
estás entre
las mejores vestidas
de la ciudad,
pero que nunca
gasta un peso
cuando sales
de noche.

Eh tú,
Mujer araña.
Tan timida
que los chicos
te buscan
hasta que tú
los atrapas.

Eh tú,
Mujer araña.
Tan sola.
Tan triste.
Tan temerosa
de ti misma.

Eh tú,
Mujer araña.

¿Es raro, o qué …?


(from Adam Donaldson Powell’s “Jisei”, 2013.)

"Avalanche", oil on canvas, 80 x 80 cm.
“Avalanche”, oil on canvas, 80 x 80 cm.
"RAW", oil on canvas, 40 x 40 cm.
“RAW”, oil on canvas, 40 x 40 cm.