Thursday, 26 April 2012

Poem by the Norwegian poet
Olav Nygaard (1884-1924)

Now evening rises

Now evening rises at the western edge
through farmhouse yards his way he lightly treads,
hangs mountains inbetween with muted shading.
Through scrub and heather whispering’s heard soon
and as it sings the throstle changes tune
with twilight tremolo its call pervading.

But firmly of his steed’s reins day takes hold
puts on his great cloak etched with seams of gold
twixt far horizons hurries at light’s closing.
A breeze moves through cool vale and mountain side
where shadow’s waiting for the night, his bride
and swooning in his dreams of love is dozing.

And breathing gently night then enters in
with dark locks round her neck and cheek’s smooth skin
and shawl of elfine mists that swirl so lightly.
And dulcet tones, th’aeolian harp’s sweet charms,
rise shyly like a girl from mother’s arms
and float in cool realms light of foot and sprightly.

A quiv’ring bliss is felt twixt mountains tall
so seed starts growing, skins are sloughed and fall
and eyes turn upwards dazed by some great wonder:
from deepest heav’n sounds swell’s surge full and strong,
the endless urge to procreate, spheres’ song
that greets as kinsfolk those dark shores far yonder.

To see the original, go to here.

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