Friday, 29 November 2024

Karin Boye: 'Så drivs vi...'


 

 

Så drivs vi

 

Så drivs vi, vilsna själar, fram

från lägerbål till lägerbål,

vet ingenting om nästa rast

och ingenting om resans mål —

vet, att här växlar natt och dag,

tung kväll och väldig soluppgång,

och att vår resa än syns kort

och än för obarmhärtigt lång.

 

Jo, vi vet mer: en sömnlös natt

lyssnar vi tyst i hemlig skräck

in i vårt inre, till ett sorl

som av en underjordisk bäck

eller en snäckas svaga sus,

där ändå hela havet hörs,

och i vår bävan slutar vi

att fråga vilken väg vi förs.

 

Så drivs vi, vilsna själar, fram

från lägerbål till lägerbål,

vet ingenting om nästa rast

och ingenting om resans mål,

men känner att vårt hjärta dras

oemotståndligt utan val

in mot ett okänt hemmets hav,

som sorlar djupt i snäckans skal.

 

 

We’re onward driven

 

We’re onward driven, souls astray,

from campfire flame to campfire flame,

know nothing of each resting place

and nothing of our journey’s aim –

know night and day here alternate,

the evening’s load, the mighty dawn,

and that our journey may seem short

or sometimes brutally long-drawn.

 

We know yet more: one sleepless night

in silent, secret fear we seem

to hear within a lapping sound

that purls like some submerged small stream

or the faint roaring of a shell

that yet contains the whole great sea,

and in our dread no longer keep

on asking what our path might be.

 

We’re onward driven, souls astray,

from campfire flame to campfire flame,

know nothing of each resting place

and nothing of our journey’s aim,

though sense our heart is inward drawn,

a force we have no means to quell,

toward the home’s still unknown sea

that purls deep down within the shell.

 

Tuesday, 26 November 2024

Dèr Mouw: 'Hör’, was der Berg, der starke, zu dir spricht'

 


Hör’, was der Berg, der starke, zu dir spricht, 

wenn er zur Schlacht mit Fichtenfahnen weist,

mit Gletscherzähnen in den Himmel beißt,

mit Felsenspeeren in die Wolken sticht,

 

bei weltbeleuchtendem Gewitterlicht,

ihn schwarzberitt’nes Feindesheer umkreist,

in Fetzen ihm den weißen Panzer reißt,

die Fetzen donnern, und die Fahne bricht –:

 

Zum Geisteskampf trieb dich Natur hervor;

du wähnst zum eignen Glück? Betrogner Tor,

wer an ein Ziel, die er vergänglich, glaubt!

 

Leih meiner Bäche Trauermarsch das Ohr;

und neige dann getrost dein Denkerhaupt:

Ein Bessrer folgt dir nach, wenn du zerstaubt.


(Volledig Dichtwerk, p, 493)

 

 

Hear what the mighty mountain says to you,

when with spruce standards he to battle calls,

with glacier-pointed teeth the sky he mauls,

with spears of rock the clouds he pierces through,

 

to lightnings that the whole world cause to blitz,

a horde of black-horsed foes around him treads,

and rips his armoured coat of white to shreds, 

the shreds all thunder, and his standard splits –: 

 

To spiritual battle Nature called you here,

to happiness you thought? You fool misled,

a goal as transient as you to trust!

 

Lend to my rivers’ funeral march your ear;

and then bow down consoled your thinker’s head: 

Your better will replace you when you’re dust.

 

Monday, 25 November 2024

Hans Christian Andersen: 'Funen and Switzerland' (5te Juli 1875)


 

Fyen og Schweitz

5te Juli 1875

 

Odins Ø med Palnatokes Grav

Med susende Skove ved det rullende Hav,

Fyen, hvor jeg fødtes til Tankens Lyn

Mellem vilde Roser og Humleduft!

Velsignet dit Solskin, velsignet din Luft!

 

Mægtige Schweitz med Gletschernes Bulder,

Du minder mig sært om, naar Nordsøen ruller.

Schweitz! Wilhelm Tells og Skyernes Land!

Genfersø med den blomstrende Strand!

Skal her mit Støv under Hængepilen

Blomstre og groe og dog finde Hvilen,

Medens mit Livs Lyn bevares i Væren? –

Gud være takket! Ham evig Æren!

 

 

Funen and Switzerland

5 Juli 1875

 

Odin’s isle with Palnatoke’s grave

With soughing woods close to rolling waves,

Funen, where to thought’s lightning I was born 

Among wild roses and hops’ heady scent!

Blessed be your sunshine, blessed be your skies’ extent!

 

Magnificent Swiss glaciers with their rumbling

Which greatly reminds me of North Sea’s tumbling.

Switzerland! Wilhelm Tell’s and cloud banks’ own land!

And Lake Geneva with its flowering strand!

Shall my dust here ’neath the weeping willow tree

Blossom and grow and then rest lastingly,

While my life’s lightning stays one endless story? –

Thanks be to God! To Him be the glory!

 

Sunday, 24 November 2024

Hans Christian Andersen: 'Møllerens Datter'


 

 Møllerens Datter

 

Bag Ellekrattet nede, hvor Møllehjulet gaaer,

Der tjente jeg hos Mølleren i fire Ungdomsaar;

Paa Stænten jeg om Aftenen satte mig tidt,

Og talte med Møllerens Datter da lidt.

 

Det var som man fra Øinene ind i Hjertet saae,

Jeg kunde hele Natten ligge og tænke derpaa.

Hun deelte mine Sorger, jeg sagde hende Alt,

Men aldrig om min Elskov jeg hende har fortalt.

 

Men havde hun mig kjær, som jeg hende har paa Jord,

Da havde hun nok vidst det uden et eneste Ord;

Tidt bad jeg i mit Hjerte: »lad min Elskov forgaae,

Jeg fattige Knøs kan dog aldrig hende faae!«

 

Hun trykkede mig Haanden, da jeg var syg og bleg,

Men derved af mit Hjerte ei Kjærligheden veg!

Hun saae saa venlig til mig, hun bad mig være glad,

Og Vorherre og mit Hjerte, de gjorde som hun bad.

 

Jeg følte saadan Drift, saadan Lyst i min Sjæl;

Saa mødtes vi ved Lunden forleden i Qvæld.

Da tog hun mig i Haanden og sagde: »er Du her?

Du hilser en Trolovet, min Fæstensring er her!«

 

»Ja Guld og rige Perler gav mig hans Kjærlighed,

Og Du, Du er den Første, der om min Lykke veed!«

Jeg kyssede paa Haanden, men sagde ei et Ord,

Det var som al min Tanke var lagt i sorten Jord.

 

Om Aftnen var der Gilde og jeg var ogsaa med,

Jeg sad ved Siden af dem, paa det fornemste Sted.

Vi klinkede, vi drak, sang Viser ovenpaa; –

Jeg maatte være glad, thi de Alle paa mig saae!

 

Men Morgenen derefter og hver en Dag, der kom,

Saa løb det mig i Hovedet underligt om;

Alt gik mig, som jeg ønsked’, det Ene mangled’ kun!

De holdt jo Alle af mig, selv Kjæresten og hun!

 

De trykked’ mig i Haanden, de vidste ei min Vee,

De kyssede hinanden, det var stor Lyst at see! –

Da fik jeg saadan Længsel at see mig lidt om,

Jeg pakkede da sammen, ei veed jeg, hvor det kom!

 

Jeg sagde: »jeg vil see Alverden og dens Lyst!«

Men meente: »jeg vil glemme den Verden i mit Bryst!«

Hun saae paa mig og sagde, o Gud, det var saa haardt!

»Vi holde Alle af Dig! hvorfor vil Du da bort?«

 

Da kom jeg til at græde, men dengang gik det an,

Man græder naar man skilles, det sagde ogsaa han.

De fulgte mig paa Veien – da faldt jeg paa en Steen,

Det var Vorherres Villie, jeg brød mit ene Been.

 

Nu ligger jeg i Møllen, hun pleier mig der,

Hver Dag hun kommer til mig, og med sin Hjertenskjær.

Til Juli holdes Bryllup, »kom med«, igaar de bad’,

»For saa er Du helbredet og skal ret være glad.«

 

Jeg hører Vandet bruse og Hjulene at gaae,

Gud give at jeg derude under Møllehjulet laae!

Da blev jeg bedst helbredet og i mit Hjerte glad,

Og derom var det jo, de to Elskende bad.

 

 

The Miller’s Daughter

 

Down past the elder scrub, where the mill wheel slowly turns,

Four years as an apprentice the miller’s trade I learned;

When evening came I’d often sit out there on the stile,

And with the miller’s daughter I’d talk there for a while.

 

It often seemed our eyes in each other’s heart could see,

And all night I lay thinking about this constantly.

My sorrows she did share, my outpourings were all heard,

Though never of my love did I speak a single word.

 

But had she loved me such as I loved her on this earth,

She would have known this too, though of words there was a dearth;

I often begged my heart: ‘Let my love come to an end,

A simple chap like me to her heart can ne’er pretend.’

 

She pressed my hand whenever I lay there sick and pale,

But in my heart my love strong as ever did prevail!

She looked at me so kindly, and asked me to be glad,

The Lord God and my heart did exactly as she bade.

 

A great urge and desire I could feel my soul now drove;

When just the other evening we met down in the grove

She took my hand and said: ‘Is that you who’s standing there?

You’re greeting one betrothed, my engagement ring I wear!’

 

Yes, gold and finest pearls show his love will never cloy,

And you, you are the first one to know of my great joy!’

I kissed her on the hand, but I did not say a word,

It was as if my thoughts in black earth were now interred.

 

Soon came the celebration and I was also there,

Was seated close beside them, an honour that was rare.

We toasted one another, we drank, sang songs all three; –

I had to seem so glad then, for all eyes were on me!

 

But on the day that followed and every day that came,

Strange thoughts ran through my head, for now nothing was the same;

I had things as I wanted, just one thing did deter!

All were so fond of me, e’en the fiancé and her!

 

They shook me by the hand, unaware of all my woe,

They often kissed each other, such love they had to show! –

I felt a sudden longing to see the world anew,

I packed my things, but knew not what caused me so to do.

 

I said: ‘To see the world is what now would suit me best!’

But really meant ‘forget the whole world within my breast!’

She looked at me and said ‘O dear God, it seems so hard!

We’re all so fond of you! Why on earth will you depart?’

 

And then I started weeping, but all could see the need,

One always weeps when parting, that even he agreed.

They went along beside me – I tripped up on a stone,

God wished it so, leg broken I could not go alone. 

 

I’m lying at the mill now, she gives me tender care,

Each day she comes to see me, he too, they both are there.

Their wedding’s in July, yesterday they both me bade,

‘Come too, for you’re recovered by then and shall be glad.’

 

I hear the water roaring, I hear the wheels at play,

God grant that I was out there and ’neath the mill wheel lay!

That’s the best cure for me now, my heart would then be glad,

And that is just precisely what the betrothed pair bade.


Friday, 22 November 2024

Hans Christian Andersen: 'Jeg gik igjennem den duftende Skov'

 


Jeg gik igjennem den duftende Skov

(Skrevet under et Besøg hos Ingemanns i Sorø.)

 

Jeg gik igjennem den duftende Skov,

Den hvælvede sig som en Kirke;

Et Fuglepar sang der Kjærligheds Lov

Mellem Bøge, Ege og Birke.

 

Jeg saae i Søen bag Bølgens Skum

Smaafiskene lysteligt svømme;

Kjærligheds Lykke er ofte Stum,

Men talende Hjertets Drømme.

 

I Byens tummel, hvor jeg kom frem,

Det var som bag Skum og bag Grene;

Kun Mand og Hustru havde et Hjem,

Ei han, som er ganske ene.

 

Thi voxer paa Træet Blad ved Blad,

Og Blomsten mod Blomsten sigbøier;

Ei Døden skiller de hjerter ad,

Som Kjærlighed sammenføier.

 

Den er en hellig, en styrkende Daab,

Forvisning om Evigheds Lykke,

Den mildner vort Sind og begrunder vort Haab,

Er Klippen, hvorpaa vi kan bygge.

 

Lyksalig Enhver, som eier den ret,

Lyksalig alt her paa Jorden.

Den Sorg, hvorved to Hjerter har grædt,

Er deelt jo og mindre vorden.

 

Hil Eder, hvor Kjærligheds Lykke boer!

I fik, hvad kun Gud kan forlene.

Hos Eder Hjertet paa Lykken troer,

Om selv det er fattigt og ene.

 

 

I took a walk through the sweet-scented wood

(Written during a visit to the Ingemanns’ in Sorø)

 

I took a walk through the sweet-scented wood,

Like a church it arched up in greeting;

A pair of birds there of Love’s law cooed

Among beech, oak and birch trees tweeting.

 

I saw in the lake the small fish that sped

So gaily through waves gently foaming;

Love’s joy lacks words it is often said,

But to heart’s dreams it speaks of homing.

 

It was as with branches and wave’s white crest

In the city’s rush I knew only;

A home none but man and wife possessed

Not someone alone and lonely.

 

For should leaf by leaf and bloom by bloom

Have decided to live together,

Death cannot ever such hearts entomb

That Love has conjoined for ever.

 

A baptism holy and full of scope,

Eternity’s bliss its assurance;

It quietens our mind and justifies hope

Is our rock of lasting endurance.

 

Blessed all those that its precepts have kept,

Most blessed is all of creation.

The sorrow with which two hearts have wept

Has been shared, is less a vexation.

 

My greeting, all you who in Love’s bliss dwell!

You gain that which God can grant only.

With you the heart  can believe in joy’s spell,

Although it is wretched and lonely.

 

Thursday, 21 November 2024

Hans Christian Andersen: 'Konen med Æggene' (1836)

 


Konen med Æggene

 

(En gammel Historie sat i Riim)

 

Der var en Kone paa Landet,

Hun havde en Høne blandt Andet.

Nu, lægge Æg er Hønens Fag,

Og denne gav eet hver evige Dag;

Det var et Par Snese, da de blev talt,

See, det fandt Konen ikke saa galt!

Hun dem forsigtig i Kurven fik,

Tog den paa Hovedet og gik.

Til Staden styrede hun sin Gang;

Men hun var ene og Veien var lang,

Skjøndt hun gik til af alle Kræfter.

Nu tænkte hun over og regned’ efter,

Hvor godt hun fik sine Æg betalt,

Og det var jo heller ikke saa galt:

»Ja vist!« saaledes hun gaaer og taler,

»For disse faaer jeg en hel Rigsdaler.

For den vil jeg kjøbe to Høns, lad see!

Med den der hjemme har jeg da tre;

Hver lægger Æg, og om ikke længe

Kan jeg handle igjen og komme til Penge;

Jeg kjøber tre Høns, til de tre jeg har;

See det bliver sex. Deres Æg jeg ta’er;

Jeg sælger de halve, den anden Rest

Skal ruges til Kyllinger, det er bedst!

Jeg faaer da en Hønsegaard; tænk Dig bare!

Og den tager til. Det er holdende Vare!

Endeel lægger Æg, endeel ruger ud —

Hvor jeg bliver rig, Du søde Gud!

Jeg kjøber to Gæs og et lille Faar,

Og bedre og bedre Handelen gaaer

Med Æg og med Høns og med Fjær og med Uld.

Tilsidst faaer jeg Pengeposen fuld!

Jeg kjøber en Griis, jeg kjøber en Ko,

Hvo veed, maaske kan jeg kjøbe to?

See det giver af sig! og efter et Aar

Har jeg Huus og Folk og Køer og Faar.

Saa kommer en Frier ind i min Stue,

Han kysser min Haand, og jeg bliver Frue!

For han har en Gaard, der er større end min!

Jeg bliver saa fornem, saa stolt og saa fiin,

Jeg taaler ikke den mindste Snakken,

Jo, jeg skal vide at knejse med Nakken!«

— Og ret som hun sagde det, gjorde hun saa-

Klask! Æggene der paa Jorden laae!

Med dem den hele Lyksalighed faldt —

Og det var i Grunden ikke saa galt!

 

 

The Woman with the Eggs                  

 

(An old story turned into verse)

 

A woman country born and bred

She owned a hen, and more unsaid.

Now, laying eggs is what hens do

And each day it laid one or two,

So soon she’d forty eggs or more,

That wasn’t bad, a tidy score!

So in a basket they were laid,

Placed on her head, and off she made.

The town was where she bore her load, 

But was alone and long the road,

The more she walked, the more they weighed,

But she thought only of the trade

And all the money, quite a haul,

Now that was not too bad at all:

‘For sure!’ she said, ‘I’ll have a feast,

A Thaler I can earn at least.

And then I’ll buy two more, let’s see

That with the one back home makes three;

Each lays its eggs, it can’t go wrong

I’ll end up rich before too long;

I’ll buy three more, what will that make?

Yes, then I’ve six; their eggs I take;

I’ll sell the half and keep the rest

And breed some chickens, yes, that’s best!

Soon I’ve a henyard, more breeds more!

A solid prospect, that’s for sure!

Some lay the eggs, some hatch half out –

Dear God, I’m rich, without a doubt!

I’ll buy two geese, a sheep as well,

My trade is bound to swell and swell

With eggs and hens and down and wool.

My purse will end up more than full!

I’ll buy a pig, I’ll buy a cow,

Or maybe two, for I know how.

Just one year, and I then can keep

A house and servants, cows and sheep.

A suitor in my house I’ll see

And soon a lady I shall be!

For he’s a finer farm than mine

I’ll be so chic, so proud, so fine,

Resistance I shall just defy,

Oh yes, I’ll hold my head up high!’

– No sooner said than done  – and splat!

The eggs lay on the ground, squashed flat!

With that her blissful dream did stall –

Which wasn’t really bad at all!