ZKV 2: 'Heaven'

 

 

HEAVEN

 

In the church the choir sang in yesterday evening, a huge lugubrious barn of a place with vast amounts of excess wood boxing in each section of the pews in both nave and aisles, there is a spectacular pulpit. As is typical of Danish churches, it is located about two thirds up the right side of the nave, high in the air, like some overgrown crow’s nest. Above this vast mustard pot hangs the lid, the canopy, which in Danish is called ‘himmel’ (heaven). Up to it leads a tortuous flight of curving stairs, but this too is boxed in by dark wooden panels, and knobbly, carved disciples, nine in number, marking the ascent on the outside. The way in to the staircase is blocked by a two-metre-high dungeon of a door, topped by an escutcheon bearing the date 1679, and provided with a brass keyhole but no key. The remaining three disciples, larger than the other nine, guard the door. Above it is the apposite inscription: “I am the door: by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go in and out, and find pasture.” John X, 9. If this is the path to heaven, it is clearly going to be quite a climb.

 

Today I was shown a film set for a future Danish TV series from the late 1950s and early 1960s, complete with recording studio and posters on the wall. Along with Buddy Holly, Little Richard, and the éternelle Cliff Richard, was Eddie Cochran. I confess to having owned 78s by all four apostles. And find it easier to subscribe to the Gospel according to Eddie:

 

The formula for heaven’s very simple

(three steps to heaven, three steps to heaven)

Just follow the rules and you will see

And as life travels on and things do go wrong

Just follow steps one, two and three

(three steps to heaven, three steps to heaven)

 

Step one, you find a girl you love

Step two, she falls in love with you

Step three, you kiss and hold her tightly

Yeah, that sure seems like heaven to me

(three steps to heaven, three steps to heaven)

 

ZKG 34 : 'the clock-tower'

 

the clock-tower

 

despite being the only landmark

the squat clock-tower had no main access

from the drive to the school

its base contained a rounded arch

that opened up onto the central court

to one side just classrooms

the other the school chapel

 

the day i nearly set fire to the school

focusing my convex motorbike headlamp glass

on the dry grass

beside the swimming pool

with its outer fence

it could just be seen stage right

 

when the grass caught fire

and i couldn’t stamp it out

and it rampaged

threatening the fence

and the school army’s arsenal

complete with ammunition

i ran to it

as the obvious refuge

 

at its base

beside the chapel

was a snail alcove

that formed the beginning

of the spiral staircase

i crept inside

and hid

with time above me

but unable to reach

that far down

 

eventually

i had to come out

and ‘face the music’

which was decidedly dolce

since i had owned up

‘would you like a glass of water?’

 

zkg 27: 'string quartet'

 

string quartet

 

oh to live inside a new first violin

without the weight of someone’s stupid chin

 

oh to live inside a second violin

whose echo is original as sin

 

oh to live inside an broad-beamed lush viola

with time to read a book by emile zola

 

oh to live inside a gorgeous cello

and bathe in sound that’s beautiful and mellow

 

Louis Ferron: 'Wat nog splijten kon in jaren van weemoed' (PS 51)

 

 

Wat nog splijten kon in jaren van weemoed,

nog kon roesten van onlesbare dorst,

vervalt en het roepen onder de aarde

doet geen pijn meer en de lampen,

de waakzame, van de ruisende vrouwen

gaan in duister gekleed.

 

Kijk, een haas slaat zijn haken,

buitelt en

proeft tussen zijn tanden het lood.

 

 

 

What could still split in years of melancholy,

still rust from unquenchable thirst,

decays and the underground calling

no longer causes pain and the lamps,

the vigilant ones, of the rustling women

are clad in darkness.

 

Look, a hare zigzags away

tumbles and

tastes the lead between its teeth.

 

 

Translated in collaboration with Albert Hagenaars

Poetic Synapses 51

 

Cornelis Vreeswijk: 'En visa om arton svanar'

 

EN VISA OM ARTON SVANAR

  

Jag drömde om arton svanar i natt

och jag drömde om dej också.

Du bad mej om arton kyssar i natt

och dom kunde du välan få

Sjung sakta, sjung stilla,

säg skulle du vilja

att jag hade vaknat

så drömmen försvann

och att vi inte sett varann'

 

Jag såg dej ifrån mitt fönster i går

men du såg inte att jag fanns.

Du gick där förbi mitt fönster i går

och sen gick du nån annanstans

Sjung sakta, sjung stilla,

säg skulle du vilja

att jag öppnat fönstret

innan du försvann

så att vi hade sett varann'

 

Det faller ett regn i min dröm idag

och jag ger dej mitt paraply.

Och vart skall du gå min vackraste vän

allt under den gråa sky

Sjung sakta, sjung stilla,

säg skulle du vilja

att jag hade gått,

ja, jag vet inte var

och att du stod i regnet kvar

(Music by Benny Andersson and Björn Ulvaeus,

back in 1982, when they were Hootenanny Singers)

 

 

A SONG ABOUT EIGHTEEN SWANS

 

I dreamt about eighteen swans late last night

and I dreamt about you as well.

You asked me for eighteen kisses last night

and I had all those, I could tell.

Sing softly, sing lightly,

say would you wish slightly

I’d opened my eyes so

the dream was no more

and our shared look was still in store?

 

I saw you from my window yesterday

but you didn’t see me at all.

You passed right by my window yesterday

and were soon beyond beck and call.

Sing softly, sing lightly,

say would you wish slightly

I’d opened my window

before you’d passed by

and our shared look none could deny?

 

There’s rain falling into my dream today,

my umbrella I give to you.

And where are you off to, my lovely friend

beneath clouds oh so grey in hue?

Sing softly, sing lightly,

say would you wish slightly

that I’d gone on my way

well, I don’t quite know where

and in rain left you standing there?

 

R.M. Rilke: 'Der Schwan'

 

DER SCHWAN

 

Diese Mühsal, durch noch Ungetanes

schwer und wie gebunden hinzugehn,

gleicht dem ungeschaffnen Gang des Schwanes.

 

Und das Sterben, dieses Nichtmehrfassen

jenes Grunds, auf dem wir täglich stehn,

seinem ängstlichen Sich-Niederlassen—:

 

in die Wasser, die ihn sanft empfangen

und die sich, wie glücklich und vergangen,

unter ihm zurückziehn, Flut um Flut;

während er unendlich still und sicher

immer mündiger und königlicher

und gelassener zu ziehn geruht.

 

 

THE SWAN

 

This toiling, ponderously straining on

through things untackled and as if bound,

is like the gait of the ungainly swan.

 

And our dying, this lost apprehension

of what is our daily common ground,

like his sinking down with anxious tension–:

 

into waters which now gently sheathe him

and which constantly recede beneath him,

as if blithe and bygone slide by slide;

while infinitely calm and more secure

ever more regal ever more mature

he with greater composure deigns to glide.

Medieval Dutch/Flemish text (c. 1400): 'Egidius, waer bestu bleven?'

 

Gruuthuse manuscript, page 28r

RONDEEL

 

Egidius, waer bestu bleven?

Mi lanct na di, gheselle mijn.

Du coors de doot, du liets mi tleven.

 

Dat was gheselscap goet ende fijn,

Het sceen teen moeste ghestorven sijn.

Nu bestu in den troon verheven

Claerre dan der zonnen schijn,

Alle vruecht es di ghegheven.

 

Egidius, waer bestu bleven?

Mi lanct na di, gheselle mijn.

Du coors de doot, du liets mi tleven.

 

Nu bidt vor mi: ic moet noch sneven

Ende in de weerelt lijden pijn.

Verware mijn stede di beneven:

Ic moet noch zinghen een liedekijn.

Nochtan moet emmer ghestorven sijn.

 

Egidius, waer bestu bleven?

Mi lanct na di, gheselle mijn.

Du coors de doot, du liets mi tleven.

For more information go to here.

 

 

RONDEL

 

Egidius, where shall I find thee?

I long for thee, dear friend of mine.

Thou’st suffered death, to life consigned me.

 

Sweet company we had and fine,

Yet one must die and the other pine.

Now at the throne mayst thou enshrined be,

There as a brightest sun to shine,

With bliss that’s unalloyed assigned thee.

 

Egidius, where shall I find thee?

I long for thee, dear friend of mine.

Thou’st suffered death, to life consigned me.

 

Now pray for me: thy death’s behind thee,

I to this harsh world must resign.

Keep my place by thee safe, I mind thee:

I still must sing my song’s each line.

Yet unto death all lives incline.

 

Egidius, where shall I find thee?

I long for thee, dear friend of mine.

Thou’st suffered death, to life consigned me.

Included in this book:

 

 

J.H. Leopold: 'O, als ik dood zal, dood zal zijn'

 

 O, als ik dood zal, dood zal zijn

 

‘O, als ik dood zal, dood zal zijn

kom dan en fluister, fluister iets liefs,

mijn bleeke oogen zal ik opslaan

en ik zal niet verwonderd zijn.

 

En ik zal niet verwonderd zijn;

in deze liefde zal de dood

alleen een slapen, slapen gerust

een wachten op u, een wachten zijn.’

 

 

Oh, when I’m dead, I’m dead some day

 

‘Oh, when I’m dead, I’m dead some day

come then and whisper, whisper sweet words,

then I shall open my pale eyes

and shall not be the least amazed.

 

And shall not be the least amazed;

for in this love shall death but be

a form of sleep, a sleep calm and sound

a waiting, waiting on you to gaze.’

 

J.H. Leopold: 'Een stille dag is om mij heen' (In gedempten toon)

 

J.H. Leopold (1865-1925)

 

Een stille dag is om mij heen

 

Een stille dag is om mij heen

en in mij is het leven flauw,

ik voel de angst des wezens nauw

en ben in mijne vrede alleen.

 

Is er in mij de aandacht niet

van verzen en hun stil verricht

inschikken tot dit klein gedicht

van iets geluk en licht verdriet?

 

dat gij nog eens mij waart nabij

en ik u koel en zuiver vond

en wel in droefenis verstond

het verre tussen u en mij.

 

 

A quiet day surrounds me here

 

A quiet day surrounds me here

and in me all would seem becalmed,

A fear of life scarce threatens harm,

at peace I sit in my lone sphere.

 

Do I of poetry’s domain

too little grasp have to converse

and craft this feeling into verse

with signs of joy and transient pain?

 

that you once more felt close to me

and I found you so cool and pure

and had in sadness to endure

the chasm twixt us had to be.

 

 

 

Pär Lagerkvist: 'Mitt träd är pinjen' (1926)

 

Mitt träd är pinjen

 

Mitt träd är pinjen,

den som lyfter sig

befriad upp ur jorden,

breder sig

i andakt ut, med krona mörk och stum.

Så tar sin plats i rymdens vida rum.

 

Av jord blev ande,

utav ande ro.

Dess krona lyftes att i rymden bo.

Är blott en gäst, är som en handfull mull,

men synes evig för sitt väsens skull.

To hear the Swedish read, go to here.

 

 

My tree’s the stone pine

 

My tree’s the stone pine,

that which lifts itself

released up from the earth,

spreading out

in solemn prayer, with dark and silent crown.

Takes then its place in endless tracts of space.

 

From earth came spirit,

and from spirit rest.

Its crown is raised in space to find a nest.

Is but a guest, is like a handful earth,

though seems eternal through intrinsic worth.

To hear the English read, go to here.

 

 

Pär Lagerkvist: 'Intet är förgäves' (1926)

 

Intet är förgäves

allt är du, o liv.

Varje stund som skänks mig

är ju du, mitt liv.

Intet går till spillo,

intet strykes ut.

Intet för mig vilse,

bara hem till slut.

To hear the Swedish read, go to here.

 

 

Nothing is in vain here

all is you, o life.

Every hour I’m granted

is but you, my life.

Nothing here is wasted,

nothing is erased.

Nothing shakes my bearings,

home completes the way.

To hear the English read, go to here.

Pär Lagerkvist: 'Torso' (1926)

 

TORSO

 

Blott du, mitt bröst, är kvar,

du som kan lida,

du som kan känna smärtans djup

men inte klaga.

Stoft är min mun,

i okänd mark förvittrad,

stoft är min strupe,

kan sitt kval ej ropa.

Till skärvor slagna

ligger mina lemmar

bland vägens grus

att trampas utav alla.

 

Ej lyfts min arm

att fånga fåfäng glädje,

att hälsa dagens sol,

att gripa segerkransen.

Ej höjs min panna

att med manlig tanke

sitt öde möta.

Inte ögat vidgas

att skåda världen klart

och finna ro i visshet.

 

Blott du, mitt bröst, är kvar.

Till lidande blott stympad

min ande fängslas här.

Blott du, mitt bröst -

du livets fågelrede

som skälver än,

fast fågeln lyft sin vinge

för länge länge sen.

Blott du, mitt bröst,

blott smärtans djup förskonats.

 

 

TORSO

 

Only you, my breast, remain,

you who can suffer,

you who can feel the depth of pain

but not complain.

Dust is my mouth,

eroded in unknown ground,

dust is my throat,

unable to cry out its agony.

Smashed into shards

my limbs lie

midst the grit of the road

to be trampled on by all.

 

My arm is not raised

to seize futile gladness

to greet the day’s sun,

to grasp the victor’s wreath.

My brow is not uplifted

so as with manly thoughts

to meet its fate.

No eye opens wider

to gaze at the world clearly

and find calmness in certainty.

 

Only you, my breast remain.

Mutilated merely for suffering

my breath is imprisoned here.

Only you, my breast –

You, life’s bird’s nest

that is still trembling

though the bird is on the wing

a long, long time since.

Only you, my breast,

though spared the depth of pain.

To see Rilke's famous torso poem, go to here.