Thursday 17 March 2011

Poem by the Danish writer Klaus Rifbjerg


In Bellman’s time

Carl Michael Bellman
often felt quite atrocious
in the morning.
Carl Michael Bellman wanted
so much to have a quick drink
but knew it just wasn’t on.
Carl Michael Bellman’s mornings
were prosaic,
then he wrote poetry.
With seething stomach and liver
like a stone
Carl Michael Bellman sat
in his cold room and would have
given almost anything
for a glass of hock
or to see a tankard full of ale
but he stood his ground.
Carl Michael Bellman’s fingers
were sore and it hurt
to play the lute.
He played and looked out over
the chimney-topped roofs and the wet snow.
He said to himself:
Give up now, Carl Michael Bellman
throw your pen down now
and give up,
sell your lute now and mull
a glass of red wine with cloves
the devil take the lot of it.
He felt quite atrocious in the morning did
Carl Michael Bellman
To hell with you, Ulla & Movitz
it said inside his head
though on the paper different music came
(Your health, comrades, your health, dear sisters!)
and in the evening things were a bit better.

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