Dubroksen levy ladattavissa ilmaiseksi SoundCloudista

Nyt Dubros -yhtyeemme levyn voi ladata SoundCloudista veloituksetta: https://soundcloud.com/jahmanishifi/sets/dubros-horros

Kuva: Sara Vallioja

Ensimmäinen arvostelu Meitä on monta -levystä

"Harri Hertelliä on kuitenkin vaikea kuunnella ilman pientä hymyä suupielessä – runojen sanoitukset ovat vakavista aiheista huolimatta varsin huvittavia, eikä runoilijan matalaa ja pehmeää ääntä voi kuunnella tulematta hyvälle tuulelle."

http://www.desibeli.net/arvostelu/6239

Full Moon in the Calendar

There's a full moon in the calendar

but I can't see the nocturnal seas

or hear the bottomless wail of craters

nothing in the sky but the shipwrecked light of childhood

toes numb from the cold

hands on the wheel

a soldier freezing in a foxhole

his helmet white from the snow

his youth split in half in an instant

like an egg cracked on the rim of a frying pan

the screech of the big whistle

a skull torn apart by shrapnel

its thoughts all bare

the bumpy reddened skin of a goose

please let there be no one out in the yard

I could just strangle my cock

and scramble my brains when I go on leave.

There's a full moon in the calendar

but I don't know how to read

and I can't see how my winter tires makes love to these icy streets

scratching that unsanded back to find free spaces

as if tearing out the man from under his skin

to see what he's really like

to never ever be betrayed

even though we're both here naked

the newspapers fallen from the bed's edge like leaves

the yellowed sea charts of those lost in the sheets

the sneering snigger of the floorboards

infidelity above the clattering rooftops

ships swaying in the wind

like the brunt breath of consummation

love's hopeless battle

the wild rat-a-tat-tat rattle of machine guns on an empty field

a hollow tree in the middle

fingernails blackened

by places, long since gone

whose names in the atlas are changing.

There's a full moon in the calendar

but I still can't believe it

or hear how the reeds are quivering

when the windows of an ageless child mist over

dead flies between the glass

not even the spider wants to move

only the night sneaks in silence

falls on everything like a curse

a working man of few words

and his smooth sauna steam

in the smell of sap and sweat

worn suede shoes by history's cabinets

and the chipped gravel truths of mass graves

fall down on our shoulders

no signposts or maps for this harsh path

where a soldier returns home blind

his lips a whimpering wind, embarrassed

but crooning in lust

one last time.

Translation: Kasper Salonen

I don’t read the obituaries

I don’t read the obituaries

the sun rises up redly

the flowers open wide

the compass has forgotten the North

and I’m waiting for you

for my battery to die on me

for the sprain that twists our words.

I’m a repaired sole at the shoemaker’s

a message on the machine

a smile that eyes evade

the world wants to stretch out our feelings

open doors wide

sweep every stone off the streets.

I don’t read the obituaries

or see people on the town

just the rustling of shopping bags

tired men wandering through malls

are lead into secret stalls to be battered by security

and we have no idea who’s right

who exists just for us

but the clock keeps keeping time

clicks its ticking fingers

second after second after second

our sneakers crunch on the new year’s lingering shards

shattered promises

the hollow trash can at the terminus

waits to be rummaged

visions cut short

bank accounts empty.

Soon the glass too is empty

our lips dry

you don’t need a reason to stare at your loved ones

to grab hold of every person who dares touch you

who dares to embrace you

and we are many

we don’t read the obituaries

or fear to live

or to open the newspaper at random

or to see that laughter is not the opposite of crying

that candles aren’t burned out by fire

that dreams never lose their meaning

even if they change.

Crumbs on the plate

as if you had left at last

and left this cracked leather behind you

and the plastic promises of better days

with someone else,

as if you had fallen into a loveless ravine

it can’t be rebuilt

life can never be caressed too much

or let slip through your fingers

without fighting for rent

for a shared dinner

during which your eyes know to stay silent

understand without speaking

and speak without understanding.

Translation: Kasper Salonen

Homeward Bound

A boy, lost to the world

under his thick clothes only a malnourished fear

freedom-of-speech ornaments on the wrong side of town

the breadline moves slow and shoegazing

it lowers the selling prices of these properties

do-gooders and saints have no place here!

The yellowed promises of magazines

dry on the lips of ad execs (miten lausutaan?)

the holiday spirit

is within your grasp

those new sweatshop-sneakers

are within your grasp

inequity and exploitation

are in your grasp

and the revolution won't even be televized

but even that is within your grasp

as you strangle a last gasp from your fellow man

and in the middle of a deserted park I realize

how easy it is to be a good person.

A mail-ordered wifey

a Johnnie Walker Facebook-stalker

a redneck internet preacher descending (miten lausutaan?) the steps of Parliament

his speeches are filled with staring fractures

lips glared dry

fair, refreshing waters by the river's edge

and their dark swirling curls

ten little niggers high on LSD

bling-around-the-rosie (mitä tarkoittaa?)

teenagers these days are all strung out and nosy

gathered round a laptop drooling over sites about war

but there's no babushka inside their own grandma

but ears gone deaf, memories whistling past,

teeth made of plastic, hips made of metal

a satellite dance on the edge of town

photocopied sculptures snuck in between the lines

interest-free futures and no atomic war.

What we need are some kickass powerpoints!!!

poindexter populists hung dry from their ties

rune-singers from garbage yards and junk piles

folk wisdom clichés tangled together in snowdrifts

tales from the deep wells of experience under bridges

greasy John Does staggering up to vote

clung to editorials written to a bloated rote saying

c'mon let's play nice and say YAY to the Helsinki Guggenheim

or else we'll all be hayseeds and rubes and yokels

and christ!! not to mention these gypsies

well I guess they're ok sometimes

when you're returning home from somewhere or leaving forever

when they play those warzone ballads at the station

it's like a field trip to the boondock straits

with a false prophet, a True Finn as your guide.

To have a whole mint-condish disc of Zoloft

a backpack full of feelings you haven't dealt with yet

and jesus, seriously, how easy it is to be a good person

the Truth slurped from the mouth of a bottle in a paper bag

cup by cup, the huge buzz that rises from under moustaches

the nuzzling buddies and late-night liars

storytellers if it kills them

whispers captured on photographs

love's sweet song without pubic hairs

oh the shame! the pleasure!

unsanctioned submarines navigating the depths of the fatherland

let's put our backs to the wheel for the good of Us All

magic tricks on the office couch

and for a solitary moment

there exists a place or a world

that nobody can even imagine

as of yet


Translation: Kasper Salonen

Have you ever?

Have you ever

borrowed someone else's memory

told it like it was your own

maybe added some details you invented

to make it seem more realistic

as if it had happened to you personally?

Have you come home without saying hi to your partner

told her to get all this crap out of the hallway

even though it's 2 am

and the neighbors are sick and tired

of listening to your bickering,

whether the bookcase should be moved into the front room or not

and should it have black Ikea drawers, or green?

Have you ever blacked out in a cab without your wallet

after a Christmas party

just skipped work the next day

complained about back pain at the doctor's appointment

a pain that started last week

but kept getting worse

probably because of the freezing weather

or from helping your friend move recently?

Have you ever worked for the city

smoked a cigarette in shame

two blocks from the office

and wondered on your lunch break

why your colleague can stuff his face at Mickey D's

without your boss calling him a lard-ass

or a bad person

even though he's just as guilty of ruining his health

with his triple cheeseburger?

Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror

and noticed those tiny pinpricks in your skin

sat back and thought "It'll be fine"

with dark circles under your eyes

waiting for the first tram of the day

the timetable so frostbitten

that you're not sure whether to just run the distance

or wait a few more minutes for the number Six?

Have you forgotten to water the plants

or to pick up some coffee from the corner shop,

have you skipped a big meeting

even though you agreed to it months ago

knocked back a few cold ones on the way home

even though the rent is due the next day

and you can't even afford a box of matches?

Have you ever been at the bank

talking to an investment adviser your own age,

lied about your plans to purchase property

even though in all honesty

grandma's inheritance has to be cashed right now

because you're pretty much up the river,

up to here in debt to all your friends

and even to the kind of people

you shouldn't owe money to?

Have you ever actually even considered

what it's like to be psyched

when the grocery store intern

lets you rifle through the backyard dumpster,

lay your hands on wrapped discs of microwave pizzas

that spin as beautifully as a Mozart symphony

and you're all ready on the couch

when you hear that familiar ding

and notice that this classic snack from 1985

looks quite a bit fresher than you

even though you're exactly the same age?

Translation: Kasper Salonen

Harri Hertell

Harri Hertell (* 1985) je finský básník, slamer, DJ a kulturní producent. Patří k vůdčím osobnostem skupiny Dubros rozvíjející žánr dub poetry a dua Hertell & Hertell. Obě skupiny vydaly v roce 2013 nahrávky hudebních básní, které se dočkaly řady úspěšných repríz ve finském rozhlase. V oboru kulturní produkce je Hertell známý především jako zakladatel kolektivu Helsinki Poetry Connection, který během uplynulých pěti let probudil k životu slamerskou kulturu ve Finsku. Spíš než soutěžní klání si její příznivci oblíbili volné exhibice. Spolu s ostatními členy Helsinki Poetry Connection se Hertell stará o provoz velmi populárního klubu Helsinki Poetry Jam a pořádá večery Kiiski Open Mic. Na podzim 2011 debutoval samostatnou sbírkou Kunnes oppii kävelemään (Než se naučíš chodit), která je v tuto chvíli rozebraná. V současné době pracuje na svojí druhé sbírce a aktivně vystupuje jak ve Finsku, tak v zahraničí. Jeho básně jsou přeložené do angličtiny, němčiny, španělštiny a češtiny. Již několik let se Hertell angažuje ve výboru kulturně-literárního spolku s dlouholetou tradicí, Nuoren Voiman Liitto (Svaz mladé síly).

Básnický blog Harriho Hertella: http://mieliemmepelloilla.blogspot.fi/

Profil Harriho Hertella na facebooku: https://www.facebook.com/HarriHertell2013

Nejnovější hudebně-básnické video Move on!: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EPMT2HovO-0