OBSTFELDER, Sigbjørn
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spind den af taage, knyt den af straaler, dyp den i nellikeblod!
aspebladvævet, dugperleknappet, heftet med spindelvævtraad!
lokkende lygtmænd, hoppende ildblus funkle paa himmelblaa grund!
smilende spænder, sommerfuglvinger, – legende kolibrisko! |
spin it from mist, knit it from rays of light, dip it in carnation's blood!
woven from aspen leaves, stitched with cobweb threads, buttoned with pearls of dew!
alluring will-o'–the-wisp, leaping flames sparkle on sky-blue soil!
smiling buckles, summer bird wings – whimsical humming bird shoes!
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Cease thy play
Be mute, song-notes,
Be mute, thou wondrous music
of night,
so the words can ring out,
can trickle like poison
forth from my soul.
For I yearn to be delivered from suffering.
Cease thy play,
thou nature, who uprearest thee
mutely above mortal destinies.
I will hearken to the word within me
and find what is true.
Soon will the morning be here
with its wonderful sun,
and its throbbing life,
– then will the words die upon my lips.
Therefore night,
lure them forth,
these dancing words, these dying words,
Upon thy black ground shall my words
flash.
Everything is so strange
I look at the white sky.
I look at the grey-blue clouds.
I look at the blood-red sun.
So this is the Earth.
So this is the home of the planets.
A raindrop!
I look at the tall houses,
I look at the thousand windows,
I look at the distant church spire.
So this is the Earth.
So this is the home of mankind.
The grey-blue clouds gather. The sun disappears.
I look at the well-dressed gentlemen,
I look at the smiling ladies,
I look at the stooping horses.
The grey-blue clouds become so heavy.
I look, I look …
I must have come to the wrong planet
Everything is so strange