New words, word pairs, plays on words, such micro-inventions are omnipresent in Hanne Lippard’s work. The Berlin-based Norwegian artist is an avid observer of contemporary life. Her work talks about interactions with fellow humans and machines, odd situations we accept without even thinking about it anymore, and devices that are supposed to make our daily lives easier. She transforms her observations into absurdist poems combining found text with her own writing – sometimes performed live, sometimes presented in installations, writings, or sound pieces. No matter what the format is, Lippard makes us aware that language is far less solid and reliable than we think most of the time – cleverly and always with a pinch of humor.

We are publishing the four poems below as part of our ongoing thematic cluster on “Fabulating.” All of them have recently been performed by the artist herself on the occasion of the release of composer, musician, and sound designer Alban Schelbert’s Candid III, which features “Verbotener Neingang,” the final poem in our selection.

Looming

Divine light
Define light
as illumination
As particles
Define life
As particular
As a nation
Divide life
Into particles
Into particular items
Stocks shares
Shares stocks
Sharing
Shades
Shadows
as a representation of a man
Accepting
Peoples dark side
Without going blind
Beings as outlines
Shapes
Silhouettes
Silhouettes
Silhouettes
Silhouettes
Silly me
To keep on walking in your shadow

When I have my own
To care for

Mound of butter

Everyone is covered in butter but her
Everyone but her is covered in butter
But for her, what is butter
Fat from milk
Fat from the cow
Fat from the fat
She is free of that
She sips her lemon tea
Which is also yellow
Like butter
Like her
Like,
Everyone but her
Everyone but her is covered in butter
Everyone is covered in butter but her
Who cares?
Herself, she’s content
with life giving her lemons
And not the scent
Of butter
But her
own

Papercut Haircut Stone

Text to speech
Is not
Exactly speech
Nor is speech to text
Exactly a text
I remember an ex
Who used to speak
Like a book
I didn’t know which page
He was on
Half of the time
Neither did he
The other half
Together
we made a whole
A vacant whole
Nothing solid
A rock
Not

The recorded sound of a piece of paper being flipped,
Is seemingly as painful as a paper cut
When played at the highest volume
Possible
Only difference is,
Sound leaves the body
Almost immediately
Like the way he pulls out
Once the job is done
Once the cum has come
At least that’s how I felt in two thousand and three
How did you feel
In two thousand and three
Was there anyone inside of you
Worth mentioning
Not for me
Not for one moment
But on the outside
Yes

This little cut lingers
On the finger
Every time you text back
Every time you touch
An object
Or a subject
The little cut is revisited
Marked off
Made physical
To the naked eye
The naked eye
Remains naked
Unless you dress it up
In a hat
Hats for eyes?
It’s like speech to text
It just isn’t
It just doesn’t
It just’ntst
Its just
Bullshit
N’exist
E pas
But this little fingertip cut
It exists
It’s here
It’s there
It’s where it reminds you
That your own flesh is an integral part of your language
Even if you can not see your own tongue
When talking

Auto correct does
Auto correct sees
Auto correct wants to
Auto correct
Poem
to
Porn
Auto respond
Wants to
Auto respond
With a yes
When all I want is to say is no.
It seems
I’ve lost the sensual
In consensual
It seems
I’ve lost
In general
It seems

Verbotener Neingang

This door is locked
This door is also locked
Now you are locked in between two locked doors
All you can do is
Sit down
Silently
And wait for someone to lock you out again
It might take
Days
Weeks
Months
Years
Who knows
When
Nobody knows
You are here
Seated
Silently
Between two locked doors

Waiting