Thursday, 16 August 2012

Another poem by Olaf Bull, from 'Digte 1909'




Et overstreget digt

Bag et gitter af streger
stirrer et daarligt digt.
Et ærligt skind igrunden,
men ikke yppig runden
af sang og stemning og sligt.

Født af en mager moder,
af hjernens skrumpne skjød,
næret af tankefoder,
som hjernecellernes boder
i fattige timer bød — —.

Forstandens hodepine
dirrer i digtets krop –
afmægtig i sin feber
det ramser med tørre læber
sin grimme vise op.

Det rusker i sine streger,
vil løs af det grumme bur; –
det er min farligste fange
trods mange velskabte sange,
som strømmer i min natur.


A struck-through poem

Caged-in a shoddy poem
from bars of strokes peers out.
Honest enough a fellow,
though hardly round and mellow
with song and tuneful clout.

Spawned by a skinny mother
a wizened brain its womb,
mere scraps of thought the fodder
that brain cells had on offer,
in meagre hours consumed – –.

And reason’s fearful migraines
the poem’s body rack –
by fever now prostrated
cracked lips reel off unsated
their ugly tuneless track.

Its bars of strokes it rattles,
its cruel cage it would force; –
it is my direst captive
though songs well-formed, attractive
through my whole being course.

For the other Bull poem, go to here

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