A June poem by Marjoleine de Vos

To see the poem, go to here

One from Viggo Stuckenberg's 'Final Poems'

Were it not because the jasmine’s blooming,

hellish torments on me would be thronging,

you are gone, the summer day is empty.

all its sun and song speak but of longing.

But the jasmine’s blooming by the hedgerow

like a milky way of white suns blazing,

what to me are all the stars of heaven –

each bloom is your white dress while I’m gazing.

Time for Wirsén's midsummer poem again!

Just go to here.

Kingo at his simple and straightforward best

The tenth song

Is a thanksgiving after Holy Communion

Soul’s shepherd, Jesu, thanks to thee

     Eternally,

And for thy death, soul’s remedy

     Whereby thou rescuedst me.

Thy body and thy blood I’d praise,

     My soul’s delight;

The meat and drink that can erase

     The serpent’s hate and bite.

I still can taste how sweet thou art

     To mouth and mind,

Yet hold thee closest in my heart,

     Where thou hast been enshrined.

You worldly lusts depart from me,

     I never more,

No nevermore your friend shall be,

     But bring you to God’s law.

O JEsu, let thy body’s bread

     And blood-filled bowl,

Refresh me even until death,

     Then I’ll have reached my goal.

What makes a Dane? - Benny Andersen knows

Just go to here

Great summer poem by Lars Gustafsson

Events on the periphery of a summer day

The trapped bumblebee

cusses and buzzes at the window

in a foreign language

The old coffee-mill

can’t stop going on

about rationing and war

A splendid spider’s web

has taken over grandma’s bicycle

an Evangelii Härold no longer for sale

From the century-old bush

gooseberries, brown as amber,

and weary, fall to the ground one by one

It is – in short – late here on earth

In the wall-mounted telephone

the afternoon storm is already crackling

A sonnet or 'sound rhyme' by Thomas Kingo

Sonnet or Sound Rhyme

It is ordained that all things shall comply completely

With those who fear God’s name, the orbit of the world

And fortune’s centre-point, around which it is whirled,

Shall bow – if God sees fit – down to their hand if need be:

The world’s a workshop though for heaven’s fortune-things,

With many twists and turns and with the strangest swings

That to the flesh’s purblind eye seem made to measure,

Yet to a noble soul can give such wondrous pleasure,

Since it God’s heav’nly hand in all things can discern,

No matter where the wind of fortune seeks to turn,

It still makes out its God at every compass point,

And fortune’s frail glass never puts it out of joint:

However harsh and searing fate might seem to be,

God makes all things that are, and does so perfectly.

Our hotel room wall poem in Oslo - Olav Aukrust's classic

Ei naki grein

Ei naki grein med blodraud bær

og ei som bladrik blømer,

på kvar sin måte fagre er

for den som kjærleg dømer.

Den eine gjev ein ange, ho,

der ljuv ho ligg og blømer.

Den andre gjev sitt hjarteblod

når lauv og haustvind rømer.

Den eine skin og strålar, ho,

den andre brenn og mognar

og gjev til sist sitt hjarteblod;

der tung av bær ho bognar.

                                         *

Eg gav deg den med blomar på.

Eg gjev deg den med bæri.

Kven rikast er vil du få sjå

litt lenger fram på ferdi.

A naked branch

A naked branch with berries red

and one that’s in full blossom,

are lovely both, it can be said,

to eyes that kindly gloss them.

The one’s sweet scent comes from the bud,

as blossoming it lies there.

The other gives its own life’s blood

in autumn winds, and dies there.

The one is capped with radiant hood,

the other ripens blazing,

and lastly gives its own life’s blood

with berries heavy laden.

                                         *

I gave you that with blossoms on.

I give you that with berries.

And you will surely see anon

which should the more be cherished.

Got lost twice in 2007, otherwise OK

LE MORBIER

to protect leftovers of their comté

until the next day

the farmers of morbier

covered it with a layer of ashes

then placed more comté on top:

le morbier

in the heated pool

suddenly

day month and year

escaped me

were out of mind

for several minutes

since then

reality seems the same

but whenever

access to a word

is briefly but firmly denied

there is this taste

of ash

LE MORBIER

for at beskytte resten af deres comté

til den efterfølgende dag

dækkede morbiers bønder den

med et lag af aske

og placerede så mere comté ovenpå:

le morbier

i det opvarmede bassin

kunne jeg pludselig

ikke komme på

dag måned eller år

de var sporløst forsvundet

i adskillige minutter

siden da

ser virkeligheden ud som før

men hver gang

adgangen til et ord

nægtes kort men bestemt

er der denne smag

af aske

LOST

got lost once again

could not remember the date.

found it in the newspaper

but distrusted it.

thought it was summer

but there is still snow outside.

the seasons have now swung back

dog sniffed up her name.

FORTABT

var fortabt igen

kunne ikke huske datoen.

fandt den i en avis

men var mistroisk.

troede det var sommer

men der er stadig sne udenfor.

årstiderne er nu svinget tilbage

hunden har snuset sit navn op.