In Bellman’s time

Carl Michael Bellman

often felt quite atrocious

in the morning.

Carl Michael Bellman wanted

so much to have a quick drink

but knew it just wasn’t on.

Carl Michael Bellman’s mornings

were prosaic,

then he wrote poetry.

With seething stomach and liver

like a stone

Carl Michael Bellman sat

in his cold room and would have

given practically anything

for a glass of hock

or to see a tankard full of ale

but he stood his ground.

Carl Michael Bellman’s fingers

were sore and it hurt

to play the lute.

He played and looked out over

the chimney topped roofs and the wet snow.

He said to himself:

Give up now, Carl Michael Bellman

throw your pen down now

and give up,

sell your lute now and mull

a glass of red wine with cloves

the devil take the lot of it.

He felt quite atrocious in the morning

Carl Michael Bellman

To hell with you, Ulla & Movitz

it said inside his head

though on the paper different music came

(Your health, comrades, your health, dear sisters!)

and in the evening things were a bit better.

johnirons