Thursday, 2 July 2026

Leopold M. van den Brande: 'De zwaluwen gebonden' (PS 62)


 

DE ZWALUWEN GEBONDEN

 

gedroomd dat duizenden vogels gebonden

langs de straten lagen, vind ik ’s morgens

een zwaluw in een elastiekje gedraaid,

 

glanzend en vederlicht ligt hij even

in mijn hand, terwijl de oogjes beven,

en wij elkaar bevrijden;

 

hij van de angst voor de onderkant van

de hemel, ik van de pijn om de zachtheid

van haar druivenblauwe haren.

 

 

THE SWALLOWS TIGHTLY BOUND

 

dreamed that thousands of tightly-bound birds

lay along the streets, next morning I find

a swallow in a twisted elastic band,

 

glistening and feather-light it lies briefly

in my hand, while its small eyes flutter,

and we release each other;

 

it from the fear of the underside of

the sky, I from the pain at the softness

of her wine-grape-blue hair.

 

 

Translated in collaboration with Albert Hagenaars

Poetic Synapses 62

 

Hans Christian Andersen: 'Nu Vintrens gamle Gubbe forlader sit Logi'



Nu Vintrens gamle Gubbe forlader sit Logi

1830

 

Nu Vintrens gamle Gubbe forlader sit Logi,

Thi mellem ham og Vaaren er daarlig Harmoni.

— I Kjælder og i Stue, ja selv høit under Tag

Man faaer Begreb om Chaos, thi det er Flyttedag;

Hist staae to gamle Tanter i Gadens Snavs og Snee

Samt andre gamle Møbler der ei er værd at see. —

— Nu kommer der en Liigvogn, see Følget er saa stort,

Det er en fornem Herre der Ingenting har gjort,

Han flytter — og hvis rigtigt man tør Avisen tro,

Da er han meget salig og skal i Himlen b

Nu staaer han alt deroppe og bukker med et Smiil,

Dog jeg er grumme bange, han løber der April.

 

 

Now winter’s age-old geezer his lodgings seeks to quit

1830

 

Now winter’s age-old geezer his lodgings seeks to quit,

For he and spring don’t get on and feel it’s time to split.

– In basement, on the ground floor, and in the attic too,

All seems to be chaotic, now moving day is due;

There two old aunts are standing in all street’s dirt and snow,

Along with some old furniture no one wants to know. –

– And now a hearse is passing, the cortège is quite big,

It’s probably a fine gent who never did a fig,

He’s moving – and if one can trust what the papers say,

He is amongst the blessed and heaven’s where he’ll stay.

He’s now already up there, he smiles and gives a bow,

I’m very much afraid though, he’s April fooling now.

 

 

There used to be set days for moving, giving notice or changing work.

Servants had set dates when their contracts could terminate: the first of May and the first of November.

Tenant farmers and people renting lodgings in towns had different dates: the third Tuesday in April and October.

 

Hans Christian Andersen: 'Soldaternes Sang til Dannebrog' (1851)

 

Personal dedication to Frøken M. Ørsted (Mathilde, 1824-1906)


Soldaternes Sang til Dannebrog

 

Vor gamle Fane, vort Dannebrog,

Som Himlen gav os med Seier,

Dig har jeg elsket fra lille Pog,

Mit hele Hjerte Du eier.

 

Du hellige Fane, Du danske Flag,

Om Dig straaler Mindernes Glorie,

Med Gud og med Dig hos den ærligste Sag

Staaer Danmark i Verdens Historie.

 

De gloende Kugler kan svie din Flig,

Men det kun en Stund os bedrøver;

Den danske Matros er og bliver sig lig,

Som Vaabenet Hjerter og Løver.

 

Hvis selv jeg falder paa Kampens Dag,

I Kampen for Danmark, for Norden,

Saa svøb mig blot i et Dannebrogs Flag,

I det vil jeg lægges i Jorden!

 

 

The Soldiers’ Song to Dannebrog

 

Our Dannebrog, sacred ancient flag

That victory brought from on high,

You I have loved since I was a lad

My whole heart is yours till I die.

 

You sacred banner, you Danish flag,

Streaming with memories’ glory,

With God and you, and a cause that’s just

We’re part of history’s story.

 

The glowing bullets may singe your cloth

This though but a moment alarms;

The Danish sailor’s unchanged, as too

Your hearts and lions proud coat of arms.

 

And should I fall on the battleground

For Denmark, the land of my birth

In Dannebrog have me wrapped around,

For thus will I lie in the earth.

 

 

Hans Christian Andersen: 'Grethes Glæde over Sommeren' (1832)

 


 

Grethes Glæde over Sommeren

 

I denne Maaned flytte vi paa Landet,

Min Tante vil saa gjerne nu derud.

I Aar det bliver noget ganske Andet

End sidst. — Vi laae i Søllerød. Ved Gud!

Den hele Uge vi os maatte kjede.

Jeg fandt tilsidst, at Egnen var saa styg;

Der var om Dagen saadan Sol og Hede,

Og saa om Natten – uh! Saa mange Myg!

— Man saae jo ingen Ting, kun Mark og Enge,

Og grønne Træer og en Blomster-Plet,

Og skal man see på saadant Noget længe,

Saa bliver man tilsidst, ved Gud, saa træt!

Vi troede der just var noget Rart at finde,

Men reent paa Landet er dog slet bevendt;

Og Tante blev i Grunden helst herinde,

Men man kan ikke være det bekjendt:

Man skal jo ligge der; er man galante,

Og det er sundt, som Doctorne jo troe.

Et bedre Sted vi faae i Aar, thi Tante

Har leiet Værelser paa Vesterbro:

Der er, ved Gud! Saa nydeligt derude;

At jeg kan aldrig nævne det ved Navn;

Der seer man ogsaa Træer og Køer og Stude,

Og saa er man saa nær ved Kjøbenhavn!

 

Det er behageligt — især i Sommer,

Da jo Comedien skal blive ved;

Og nu de kloge Mænd til Byen kommer,

Er Vesterbro det allerbedste Sted.

Der ellers een Ting er, jeg ei kan skjønne,

Men muligviis er jeg vel lidt borneert:

Hvor Folk kan saadan sværme for det Grønne;

Man skaber sig, og man er affecteert.

Jeg var hos Modehandleren forgangen Uge,

Og nogle søde Blomster der jeg saae;

Jeg skulde nogle røde Roser bruge,

Men der var ingen grønne Blade paa.

Jeg spurgte, om der ingen skulde være?

Da sagde Modehandleren, og lo, ved Gud!

“Fy, grønne Blade, det er ækelt, Kjære”

Det er saa flaut — det ta’er sig ikke ud!”

 

Han har just Smag, han veed hvad der er kjønt:

Og derfor kan jeg Landet ei berømme,

Men bliver træt af alt det meget Grønt.

Nei, Broerne jeg priser mange Gange,

De har for Sindet noget frydeligt,

— O, hvor jeg glæder mig til denne Sommer,

Det er dog dejligt! Hvor jeg elsker den!

Især, naar saadan Efteraaret kommer,

For saa begynde Ballerne igjen!

 

 

 

Grethe’s joy at the approach of summer

 

This month is when we move out to the country,

My aunt’s already eager to be gone.

This move will differ greatly from the one we

Last did. To Søllerød – the back of beyond!

The whole week we were bored to our back teeth.

The region I found out was simply grim;

Throughout the day there was but sun and heath,

At night – mosquitoes spared no inch of skin!

– All that one saw was meadows and some fields

And green trees and some clumps of jaded flowers,

If you look long enough, your mind just reels,

It tires you out to gaze and gaze for hours!

We thought that country life might be less drear,

But nothing there is really on the go;

And my aunt wanted most to stay right here,

But that is socially not comme il faut:

For summer in the country’s what one does,

Good for your health too, doctors claim to know.

We’ll have a better place this year, because

My aunt has rented rooms in Vesterbro:

Out there it is, ah yes, just quite delightful,

So much so I can find no words to say;

There one sees trees and cows and lots of cattle,

With Copenhagen a stone’s throw away.

 

It is so pleasant, even more in summer,

Since such a bustle’s one must always face,

Now that the city sees the wise men coming,

Well, Vesterbro is quite the ideal place.

One thing, however, I can’t comprehend

It could well be I’m out of touch by far:

For all things, rural folk go round the bend

They put on airs, become so lah-de-dah.

Last week I paid my milliner a visit,

And there were flowers there that caught my eye;

Red roses I could use, they are exquisite,

But all the leaves were gone – I wondered why.

I asked him if the leaves had dropped off maybe,

My tailor laughed, remarking thereupon:

‘Ugh! green leaves are so horrid, dear young lady.

They’re so embarrassing – they’re just not on!’

 

He has good taste, his sense of beauty’s keen:

And therefore country life I cannot praise,

But one gets tired when all one sees is green.

No, I am often glad we have the bridges,

For they can fill one’s mind with pure delight,

– This summer I am so anticipating

It’s quite delightful! May it never end!

Especially, since autumn lies there waiting,

For balls will then be starting up again!

 

Wednesday, 1 July 2026

Hans Christian Andersen: 'Trøst i Tro' (1867)

 


Trøst i Tro

 

Skal vi ej mere synge igjen:

’Danmark dejligst Vang og Vænge!’

Hjertet Bløder, synge vi den;

Vinterens Storm har jaget den hen. –

Kommer der ikke en eneste Ven?

Ham har vi ventet saalænge.

 

Sommeren blæser sin milde Bør,

Hvidtjørnen blomstrer og Gjøgen kukker,

Alt er saa smilende frisk som før,

Fuglene kvidre i vante Humør,

Hver en Blomst har sin gode Kulør,

Kun Menneskets Hjerte sukker.

 

Ikke det hjælper, græd selv Du Blod,

Jamre og klage ikke Dig baader,

Det som skal ske, fra Evighed stod

Skrevet hos ham, som er alvis og god,

Han som aldrig sin Skabning forlod,

Kongernes Konge, som raader.

 

Aldrig Fortrøstningen helt vejrer hen,

Før brister Hjertet af Sorgen.

Altid Folketroen car den:

Danmark har i Vor Herre en Ven,

Holde vi fast, Han holder igjen,

Og Solen vil skinne i morgen!

 

 

Solace in Faith

 

And shall we nevermore sing again:

’Denmark, where fair meadows slumber!’

Has our heart bleeds fallen silent then;

Did the winter’s storms prove its amen? –

Just where is our long-awaited friend?

Once we had friends without number.

 

Summer’s mild breeze is around our door,

Hawthorns are in bloom, cuckoos calling 

All is so smilingly fresh once more

The birds now gaily chirrup and caw,

The flowers form a dazzling bright decor,

It’s only our hearts that are palling.

 

It would not help you e’en to shed blood,

Not avail to be groaning and wailing,

That which shall be, has always stood

Ordained by Him who is all-wise and good

Who o’er His Creation has Fatherhood,

King of all Kings never-failing.

 

Our trust and hope will ne’er come to an end,

Our hearts would ere that break from sorrow.

The common belief has always been:

In Our Lord has Denmark a faithful friend,

If we keep the faith, he us will defend – 

And the sun will return on the morrow!



After the traumatic war with Prussia in 1864, Denmark lost about 40% of its territory. This led the nation to seek to compensate mentally: 'What is outwardly lost must be inwardly gained' became the motto.  In this poem, Andersen quotes the first line of a poem which he wrote back in 1848, when Danish forces were much more successful. To see this poem in translation, go to here.

 

Tuesday, 30 June 2026

Hans Christian Andersen: 'Jeg saae det Land, hvis Luft har himmmelsk Lyst' (1834)

 



Jeg saae det Land, hvis Luft har himmelsk Lyst

1834

 

Jeg saae det Land, hvis Luft har himmelsk Lyst,

Hvor under Pinjen Skjønheds Børn os møde,

Hvor Ilden sprudler frem af Bjergets Bryst,

Og Oldtids Byer opstaae fra de Døde.

 

Der klædt i Marmor høje Guder staae,

Der Duft og Toner i hver Luftning vifte,

Mens Havet er en Olie, azurblaa,

Og Bjergene med syvfold Farver skifte.

 

Der Alt er Malerie ved Malerie,

Der klart Guds Skaber-Kjærlighed man skuer, - 

See Bondens Gjærde; Laurbær groer deri,

Den høie Cactus, Ranken tung med Druer!

 

Der blev mit Hjerte Barn, men Tanken Mand,

Der lærte jeg Natur og Kunst at kjende.

Du Farvernes og Formens skjønne Land,

Farvel! - min smukke Drøm er nu tilende.

 

 

I saw the land whose air’s a joy divine

1834

 

I saw the land whose air’s a joy divine

Where beneath pine trees beauty’s children tread,

Where fire erupts from the volcano’s mine,

And ancient cities rise up from the dead.

 

Where, marble-clad, high gods stand in full view,

Where scent and sounds are caught upon the breeze,

And where the sea’s like oil, deep azure blue,

And mountains’ colours are a shifting frieze.

 

And masterpieces everywhere abound

Where God’s creative love none could refute‚

In farmers’ hedges, laurels can be found,

Tall cactuses and vines bent low with fruit!

 

My heart became a child, my mind a man,

I grew so close to Nature and to Art,

You land of forms’ and colours’ wondrous span,

Farewell! The fair dream’s over . I must part.

 

 

Monday, 29 June 2026

Hans Christian Andersen: 'Snorlige Gader, Palai ved Palai' (1831)

Centre of Berlin in 1831 map

 

Snorlige Gader, Palai ved Palai

1831

 

Snorlige Gader, Palai ved Palai,

Man bliver træt af at gaae og at see.

Pæne Soldater, – den første jeg saae,

Følte jeg gjennem mit Hjerte gaae,

Og jeg brød ud: ”Hvilken Krop! Hvilke Been!

Gud, hvor det dog er en nydelig En!”

”Unter den Linden ” Alverden gik.

(Det er dog smukkest i Kobberstik!)

Gaderne støve og Ungdommen med,

Ak, det gjør Øinene stor Fortræd!

Ægte Berliner Witz finder man her,

Og den er kostbar - tro mig - især

Hvis den med ”Schnellposten” skulde herfra,

Blev den for dyr ved sin Tyngde, ak ja!

”R” bliver snurret, man siger ”mein Jot”

Ellers er Folket meget godt;

Byen – ja vendt paa kryds eller tvers,

Bliver for stor til at sætte i Vers.

 

 

Moral

 

Mærk Dig: Moralen er saare fiin,

Som man faaer ud af det store Berliin!

 

 

Arrow-straight streets and fine mansions galore

1831

 

Arrow-straight streets and fine mansions galore,

Walking and gazing makes one tired and sore.

Handsome young soldiers – the first one I saw

I felt pierce my poor heart right to the core,

I exclaimed: ‘What a body! What fine legs!’

Dear God, that one leaves me quite perplexed!’

‘Unter den Linden’ all come and go.

(Though as an etching it’s finest, I know.)

The streets are all dusty, and young folk are too,

Oh, it is hard on one’s eyes, so vast a view!

Berlin-style humour is everywhere here,

And it is not cheap – believe me – quite dear

If it by ‘Schnellpost’ were meant to be sent

Its weight would cost you your very last cent.

They roll all their Rs and exclaim ‘mein Jot’

Apart from this though they seem a fine lot;

The city – if taken from A to Z –

Won’t fit my verse – there’s no more to be said.

 

 

Moral

 

Take note: The moral seems very clear,

To describe Berlin you must stand right here!

 

Sunday, 28 June 2026

Hans Christian Andersen: 'Smaabørn, kjør kun rask afsted!'

Denmark, 1937



Smaabørn, kjør kun rask af sted

 

Smaabørn, kjør kun rask afsted!

See, qvivit! vi komme med.

Det er Fastelavn i Dag,

Vi skal til et lystigt Lag;

Katten, som vil faae os fat,

Har de nu i Tønden sat.

Fare! Fare! Krigsmand!

Døden skal han lide,

Han kom dog til allersidst

I den sorte Gryde.

 

 

Quickly children, off you go!

 

Quickly children, off you go!

Whoosh, we’re with you, we’re not slow.

Lent is here again today,

Time for fun and time for play;

And the cat that chased us so

In the barrel has been stowed.

Danger, danger! Soldier!

Death comes when you’ve fallen,

You shall end up last of all

In the coal-black cauldron

 

 

For the ‘cat in the barrel’ game, see here.