Tuesday 25 September 2018

September poem by Otto Gelsted

September

Traverne staar tunge og lodne
som en Drift vældige Okser.

Køer græsser
ved Bredden af Havet
og ligger langt borte
som et Baand over Bakken.
Luften er lysende klar.

Sorte Brombær langs Vejene!
Og inde i Skovens Dyb
skinner de hvide Blækhatte
som Vokslys i Mørket.

Jord og Hav vælder over af Frugtbarhed.
I Haverne det dumpe
Fald af Gravenstener,
der eksploderer af Saft mod Jorden.
Store Laks, paa Vej efter en Aa,
løber i Fiskerens Garn.

Havren køres ind,
og Dværgmusens Unger,
der ikke er større end en Negl,
røde, haarløse og med blaa Pletter til Øjne,
rives op af deres Rede i Kornet.

Edderkopperne er ude at flyve,
der gaar som en Maanebro over Marken
af Solen, der spejler sig i deres Spind.

Vældige hvide Skyer
sejler hen over Verden.
Dagene skrider,
og nu staar Møllerne stille.
Jorden drejer ind i Mørket,
og Karlsvognen svinger frem
over sorte og susende Træer.

At gaa Vinteren i Møde
som en Mark fuld af Frø –
at gaa ind i Natten
som en Himmel, hvis blaa Muld
er fuld af tindrende Stjerner –
at dø som en Dag i September
mættet af Liv og Lys!


September

The stooks of corn stand shaggy and heavy
like a drove of mighty oxen.

Cows graze
down by the shore
and lie far away
like a band over the hill.
The air is bright and clear.

Blackberries line the roadside!
And in the depths of the wood
the white ink caps glisten
like wax candles in the dark.

Earth and sea brim with fruitfulness.
In the gardens the dull thud
of falling gravensteins,
exploding with juice against the ground.
Large salmon, seeking up-river
run into the fisherman’s net.

The oats are gathered in,
and the harvest mouse young,
no bigger than a fingernail,
red, hairless and with blue spots for eyes,
are raked out of their nest in the corn.

The spiders are in flight,
like a moon-bridge over the fields
there is sun, reflected in their web.

Massive white clouds
sail across the world.
The days slip past,
and the mills are now still.
The earth spins into the dark,
and the Plough swings forward
over black, soughing trees.

To go to meet winter
like a field full of seed –
To enter the night
like a sky whose blue soil
is full of glittering stars –
to die like a day in September
replete with life and light!



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