Olaf Bull: 'Et overstreget digt'

Et overstreget digt

Bag et gitter af streger

stirrer et daarligt digt.

Et ærligt skind igrunden,

men ikke yppig runden

af sang og stemning og sligt.

Født af en mager moder,

af hjernens skrumpne skjød,

næret af tankefoder,

som hjernecellernes boder

i fattige timer bød — —.

Forstandens hodepine

dirrer i digtets krop –

afmægtig i sin feber

det ramser med tørre læber

sin grimme vise op.

Det rusker i sine streger,

vil løs af det grumme bur; –

det er min farligste fange

trods mange velskabte sange,

som strømmer i min natur.

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.