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A poem by the Norwegian Olav Bull

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.

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Anna Maria Lenngren at her pithy best

Till fru ***, som är rädd för ormbett

Ni anser ormbett som en fara –

Men om ett sådant djur er stack,

Så kan ni säker derpå vara

Att ormen straxt af etter sprack.

For Mrs ***, who is afraid of snakebites

A snakebite you regard as frightening –

If such a creature did its worst,

You can, though, rest assured like lightning

The snake from venom then would burst.

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Bloem - November

NOVEMBER

It’s raining and it is November:

Autumn lays siege now to the heart

That sadly, though more wont than ever,

Endures its secret pains apart.

And in the room, where resignation

Sees daily life pass as it may,

From streets that speak of desolation

A bleak light falls at close of day.

The years pass by but never alter,

The difference will soon be gone

Between dim memories that falter

And what is lived and is to come.

Lost are the ways I knew of gaining

Release from time in earlier days;

Always November, always raining,
Always this empty heart, always.