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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=473908" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sea Life</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A seafarer’s life </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>I didn’t want to work in a factory and get my hands dirty, <br>be locked inside grey walls six days a week, as everyone<br>else in my street was, so I got a job selling books from <br>house to house; only I was so terrible shy.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The first doorbell I rang was also my last, the woman who<br>opened the door was kind enough but she didn’t want to <br>buy anything, I nearly cried, and didn’t have the courage<br>to press my finger on another doorbell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Selling pictures of farms, taken from a helicopter, was <br>my next job, out all day taking the bus to the countryside <br>only the day I got there it was raining I had no umbrella <br>and the first farm I came to was also my last.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I took a course training to be a waiter, in white jacket <br>and golden epaulet I looked handsome, so my sister said. <br> I did well at the course and got a job at a posh restaurant; <br>but my hands shook I dropped plates and was fired <br> <br>Finally I got a job on a tank-ship, in her galley hidden from<br>view, washing pots and pan, and hid from the world for <br>thirty years. Now, I write poetry about a sea I hardly saw<br>stuck inside a ship’s casing seven days a week.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Oskar+Hansen">Oskar Hansen</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=473908" data-title="Sea Life de Oskar Hansen" data-description="A seafarer’s life 


I didn’t want to work in a factory and get my hands dirty, 
be locked inside grey walls six days a week, as everyone
else in my street was, so I got a job selling books from 
house to house; only I was so terrible shy.

Th..."></div>
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