Luna Music LMCD/LP/MC 515
Released May 24 1989
Sleeve: Jan Otto Wiig
Photos: Emily Andersen, Nils Johannsen
and Trond Brede Andersen
Art-direction: Jan Otto Wiig & Finn Coren

Where are you
when I talk to you...
Where are you...

Where are you
when I think of you...
where are you
now...

Oooh my Pantomime
Sing me your Heart

Oooh my Pantomime
Sing me your Song

 

It was our last walk
through the city of the Moon
I had blood on my tuxedo
and a gun in my left hand

We were not thicker than thieves
so I told her to stop call my name
it will never be the same
never be the same

I'm gonna shoot the Moon,
shoot it down
Love is all gone
Like I was dead, like I was dead

I'm gonna shoot it down,
Shoot the Moon
Love is all lost
Like I was dead, like I was dead
I am bleeding
Waving bye bye bye
Love is all gone, love is all lost

What about the night
we climbed the toon
What about the night
we kissed the Moon.

I'm gonna shoot the Moon,
shoot it down
Love is all gone
Like I was dead, like I was dead

I'm gonna shoot it down,
Shoot the Moon
Love is all lost
Like I was dead, like I was dead
I am bleeding
Waving bye bye bye
Love is all gone, love is all lost

 

And all the clowns came to
my show...

Dancing to the beat of my heart
Waltzing up and down in the rain
The echo of my very soul
Like a song without an end

Still growing in many ways
like a child...

I watch my image in the mirror
My thoughts are different from last year
I'm chasing the speed inside
Always cruising for my real self

Still growing in many ways
like a child...

-Hello,do you hear me...
My Life is my Art
I'm gonna show them everything
My Life is my Art
I'm gonna take pride
in my madness
Show them everything...

Still growing in many ways
like a child...

 

Flashbacks of feelings
Blanking your wavelengths
Injections of music
The TV-eye got you

Voices on the Wire
Hope for an answer
Well, no one is nowhere
You're not the one you think you are

Slice of them big mouths
Feeding you lies
Cleaning your own thoughts
You're on the dole with Sam Spaid

You're on Thought-Control
And you're not on your own
Though they leave you all alone
Tied up in your home

Oh, sexual healing
Erections of fake
Life in the massmedia
The lack of feelings

Ah, pain is coming
Ah, pain comes creeping
And your brain is aching
The needle hits the flesh, yeah

Behind you...Brother

 

There's a girl
on my mind ...
And it swims for myself
´cause I don't know what I ...

I just want to say ...
thanks for this
and thanks for that

There's a girl on my mind ...

 

Catch that girl yeah
Catch that girl yeah
Catch that girl
-she got a thousand hearts
Catch that girl
-she got so many friends
Catch that girl
-she's never lonely no
-she always laugh and dance

All the white lies
She cannot hide
All the white lies
In her eyes

Catch that girl
Catch that girl
-tonight

Never look in her eyes, never
See straight through you
Never look in her eyes, never

Catch that girl yeah
Catch that girl
-tonight
Catch that girl

 

In a smokefilled room
by the tabledance
I found myself without a chance

At the other side of town
Where the lights are dim
I found her there
I found her there

Do the knifetrick from Chinatown
Shake yourself over the edge
Twist and shout, mess about
Bang the skies, bang the skies..Tonight

she said..
Cheers to the Wild Boys
Cheers to the Wild Boys
Cheers to the Wild Boys
who sway,sway

And when the speed was keen enough
In the middle of the song
She said, take me up
Take me up again

I wanna feel, I wanna live
In the Chinese Haze Let go,
let go..go,go,go,go

When I fall over...
When I fall over...
You give me cover...
You give me cover...

She said, she said
Cheers to the Wild Boys
Cheers to the Wild Boys
Cheers to the Wild Boys
who dance, dance..

 

I want to go
where the sparrow flies
where she takes her bath ...
and see for myself ...

 

Can I...
Can I...
Hold you

Shall I...
Take it off...

Can I...
See you

 

I took all the horses
I rode fast, fast
I fell off the horses
Bloody white horses

I took the elevators
I took them downtown
I took the elevators
All the way down

Don't, don't leave me here
This is not a deathbed
I'm just asleep
Don't, don't leave me here
No...

My nerves are shot
I'm down below
I saw bloodspots
In the virgin snow

I need a drink
to take me home
I was happy, happy
at the Darling Downs

Don't, don't leave me here
I'm not dead
I'm just asleep
Don't, don't leave me here
No...No...

I live from day to day
I throw flowers in the sink...

 

'Been running around
'Been kissing the ground
I've been digging
for water

'Been in the desert
for 25 years
A burning soul
so full of fear

Oh, give me water

Weep little child
Weep away your strain
Weep little child
But, don't you never give in

Oh, give me water

Out in this desertland
where flowers don't grow
I hear the ambulance
playing my song

Here on this spawning ground
I lost my way
I hear the steeplebells
In the land of little rain

 

Because of the silence
between us
Because of your hands
sweet caress
And your eyes
speechless fear

That's why I care for you
That's why I care for you

'Cause you let me feel
that If I
held a bird
warm, shivering
in my hands

That's why I care for you
That's why I care for you

What they share
is only the feeling
of remoteness and desertion,
of having marched
for miles and miles,
of having lost their bearings,
of a restless urge
-to find water.
                    W.H. Auden

 

Coren & Trøst on Yeats
Kirkelig Kulturverksted FXCD/LP/MC 94
Released March 27 1990
Sleeve: Tor Lindrupsen
Photo: Kjell Herning / Fin Serck-Hanssen
Art-direction: Tor Lindrupsen & Finn Coren

Bring me to the blasted oak
That I, midnight upon the stroke,
(All find safety upon the tomb.)
May call down curses on his head
Because of my dear Jack that's dead.
Coxcomb was the least he said:
The solid man and the coxcomb.

Nor was he Bishop when his ban
Banished Jack the Journeyman,
(All find safety in the tomb.)
Nor so much as parish priest,
Yet he, an old book in his fist,
Cried that we lived like beast and beast:
The solid man and the coxcomb.

The Bishop has a skin, God knows,
Wrinkled like a foot of a goose,
(All find safety in the tomb.)
Nor can he hide in holy black
The heron's hunch upon his back,
But a birch-tree stood my Jack:
The solid man and the coxcomb.

Jack had my virginity
And bids me to the oak, for he
(All find safety in the tomb.)
Wanders out into the night
And there is shelter under it,
But should that other come, I spit:
The solid man and the coxcomb.

 

I care not what the sailors say:
All those dreadful thunder-stones,
All that storm that blots the day
Can but show that Heaven yawns;
Great Europa played the fool
That changed a lover for a bull.
Fol de rol, fol de rol

To round that shell's elaborate whorl,
Adorning every secret track
With the delicate mother-of-pearl,
Made the joints of Heaven crack:
So never hang your heart upon
A roaring, ranting journeyman.
Fol de rol, fol de rol.

 

'Love is all
Unsatisfied
That cannot take the whole
Body and soul';
And that is what Jane said.

'Take the sour
If you take me,
I can scoff and lour
And scold for an hour.'
'That's certainly the case, said he.

'Naked I lay,
The grass my bed;
Naked and hidden away,
That black day';
And that is what Jane said.

'What can be shown?
What true love be?
All could be known or shown
If Time were but gone.'
'That's certainly the case,' said he.

 

I know, although when looks meet
I tremble to the bone,
The more I leave the door unlatched
The sooner love is gone,
For love is but a skein unwound
Between the dark and dawn.

A lonely ghost the ghost is
That to God shall come;
I- love's skein upon the ground,
My body in the tomb -
Shall leap into the light lost
In my mother's womb.

But where I left to lie alone
In an empty bed,
The skein so bound us ghost to ghost
When he turned his head
Passing on the road that night,
Mine would walk being dead.

 

That lover of a night
Came when he would,
Went in the dawning light
Whether I would or no;
Men come, men go:
All things remain in God.

Banners choke the sky;
Men-at-arms tread;
Armoured horses neigh
Where the great battle was
In the narrow pass:
All things remain in God.

Before their eyes a house
That from childhood stood
Uninhabited, ruinous,
Suddenly lit up
From door to top:
All things remain in God.

I had wild Jack for a lover;
Though like a road
That men pass over
My body makes no moan
But sings on:
All things remain in God.

 

I met the Bishop on the road
And much said he and I.
'Those breasts are flat and fallen now,
Those veins must soon be dry;
Live in a heavenly mansion,
Not in some foul sty.'

'Fair and foul are near of kin,
And fair needs foul,' I cried.
'My friends are gone, but that's a truth
Nor grave nor bed denied,
Learned in bodily lowliness
And in the heart's pride.

'A woman can be proud and stiff
When on love intent;
But Love has pitched his mansion in
The place of excrement;
For nothing can be sole or whole
That has not been rent.'

 

I found that ivory image there
Dancing with her chosen youth,
But when he wound her coal-black hair
As though to strangle her, no scream
Or bodily movement did I dare,
Eyes under eyelids did so gleam:
Love is like the lion's tooth.

When she, and though some said she played
I said that she had danced heart's truth,
Drew a knife to strike him dead,
I could but leave him to his fate;
For no matter what is said
They had all that had their hate:
Love is like the lion's tooth.

Did he die or did she die?
Seemed to die or died they both?
God be with the times when I
Cared not a thraneen for what chanced
So that I had the limbs to try
Such a dance as there was danced-
Love is like the lion's tooth.

 

I went out alone
To sing a song or two,
My fancy on a man,
And you know who.

Another came in sight
That on a stick relied
To hold himself upright,
I sat and cried.

And that was all my song -
When everything is told,
Saw I an old man young
Or a young man old?

 

'She will change,' I cried,
'Into a whithered crone.'
The heart in my side,
That so still had lain,
In noble rage replied
And beat upon the bone:

'Uplift those eyes and throw
Those glances unafraid:
She would as bravely show
Did all the fabric fade;
No withered crone I saw
Before the world was made.'

Abashed by that report,
For the heart cannot lie,
I knelt in the dirt.
And all shall bend the knee
To my offended heart
Until it pardon me.

 

Earth in beauty dressed
Awaits returning spring.
All true love must die,
Alter at the best
Into some lesser thing.
Prove that I lie.

Such body lovers have,
Such exacting breath,
That they touch or sigh.
Every touch they give,
Love is nearer death
Prove that I lie.

 

Undying love to buy
I wrote upon
The corners of this eye
All wrongs done.
What payment were enough
For undying love?

I broke my heart in two
So hard I struck.
What matter? for I know
That out of rock,
Out of a desolate source,
Love leaps upon its course.

 

Old fathers, great-grandfathers,
Rise as kindred should.
If ever lover's loneliness
Came where you stood,
Pray that Heaven protect us
That protect your blood.

The mountain throws a shadow,
Thin is the moon's horn;
What did we remember
Under the ragged thorn?
Dread has followed longing,
And our hearts are torn.

 

Bard Records BACD-1
Released May 5 1997
Sleeve: Subtopia
Paintings by William Blake
Photos: Jo Michael
Art-direction: Stein J. Øvre & Finn Coren

The Sun does arise
And make happy the skies.
The merry bells ring
To welcome the Spring.
The sky-lark and thrush,
The birds of the bush,
Sing louder around,
To the bells' chearful sound,
While our sports shall be seen
On the Ecchoing Green.

Old John with white hair
Does laugh away care,
Sitting under the oak,
Among the old folk.
They laugh at our play,
And soon they all say:
"Such, such were the joys
When we all, girls & boys,
In our youth-time were seen
On the Ecchoing Green."

Till the little ones, weary,
No more can be merry;
The sun does descend,
And our sports have an end.
Round the laps of their mothers
Many sisters and brothers,
Like birds in their nest,
Are ready for rest;
And sport no more seen
On the darkening Green.

 

I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen:
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And 'Thou shalt not' writ over the door;
So I turn'd to the Garden of Love,
That so many sweet flowers bore.

And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tomb-stones where flowers should be;
And Priests in black gowns,
                    were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars, my joys & desires.

 

Sound the Flute!
Now it's mute.
Birds delight
Day and Night;
Nightingale
In the dale,
Lark in Sky,
Merrily,
Merrily, Merrily, to welcome in the Year.

Little Boy
Full of joy,
Little Girl
Sweet and small,
Cock does crow,
So do you;
Merry voice,
Infant noise,
Merrily, Merrily, to welcome in the Year.

Little Lamb
Here I am,
Come and lick
My white neck,
Let me pull
Your soft Wool,
Let me kiss
Your soft face;
Merrily, Merrily we welcome in the Year.

 

Little Fly
Thy summer's play,
My thoughtless hand
Has brush'd away.

Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?

For I dance
And drink & sing:
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life
And strenght & breath:
And the want
Of thought is death;

Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live
Or if I die.

 

Tyger, Tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger, Tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

 

I wander thro' each charter'd street,
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every Man,
In every Infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forg'd manacles I hear.

How the Chimney-sweepers cry
Every black'ning Church appals,
And the hapless Soldier's sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls.

But most thro' midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlot's curse
Blasts the new-born Infant's tear,
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.

 

A little black thing among the snow:
Crying ' weep, weep,' in notes of woe!
" Where are thy father & mother? say? "
" They are both gone up to the church to pray.

" Because I was happy upon the heath,
And smil'd among the winters snow:
They clothed me in the clothes of death,
And taught me to sing the notes of woe.

" And because I am happy, & dance & sing,
They think they have done me no injury:
And are gone to praise God & his Priest & King,
Who make up a heaven of our misery. "

 

Youth of delight, come hither:
And see the opening morn,
Image of truth new born.
Doubt is fled & clouds of reason,
Dark disputes & artful teazing.
Folly is an endless maze,
Tangled roots perplex her ways,
How many have fallen there!
They stumble all night over bones of the dead,
And feel they know not what but care,
And wish to lead others when they should be led.

 

'Twas on a Holy Thursday,
            their innocent faces clean,
The children walking two & two,
            in red & blue & green,
Grey headed beadles walk'd before,
            with wands as white as snow,
Till into the high dome of Paul's they
            like Thames' waters flow.

O what a multitude they seem'd,
            these flowers of London town!
Seated in companies they sit with
            radiance all their own.
The hum of multitudes was there,
            but multitudes of lambs,
Thousand of little boys & girls
            raising their innocent hands.

Now like a mighty wind they raise
            to heaven the voice of song,
Or like harmonious thunderings the seats
            of heaven among.
Beneath them sit the aged men,
            wise guardians of the poor;
Then cherish pity, lest you drive
            an angel from your door.

 

Is this a holy thing to see
In a rich and fruitful land,
Babes reduc'd to misery,
Fed with cold and usurous hand?

Is that trembling cry a song?
Can it be a song of joy?
And so many children poor?
It is a land of poverty!

And their sun does never shine,
And their fields are bleak & bare,
And their ways are fill'd with thorns:
It is eternal winter there.

For where-e'er the sun does shine,
And where-e'er the rain does fall,
Babe can never hunger there,
Nor poverty the mind appall.

 

Memory, hither come,
And tune your merry notes;
And, while upon the wind,
Your music floats,
I'll pore upon the stream
Where sighing lovers dream,
And fish for fancies as they pass
Within the watery glass.

I'll drink of the clear stream,
And hear the linnet's song;
And there I'll lie and dream
The day along:
And, when night comes, I'll go
To places fit for woe;
Walking along the darken'd valley,
With silent Melancholy.

 

To Mercy Pity Peace and Love
All pray in their distress,
And to these virtues of delight
Return their thankfulness.

For Mercy Pity Peace and Love,
Is God our father dear:
And Mercy Pity Peace and Love,
Is Man his child and care.

For Mercy has a human heart,
Pity, a human face:
And Love, the human form divine,
And Peace, the human dress.

Then every man of every clime,
That prays in his distress,
Prays to the human form divine
Love Mercy Pity Peace.

And all must love the human form,
In heathen, turk or jew.
Where Mercy, Love & Pity dwell,
There God is dwelling too.

 

"Father, father, where are you going?
O do not walk so fast.
Speak father, speak to your little boy,
Or else I shall be lost."

The night was dark, no father was there;
The child was wet with dew;
The mire was deep , & the child did weep,
And away the vapour flew.

.....As you walk the deadman-shoes...
    Your father's ghost lies upon you.
    But worry no more, you soldier's son...
    Just walk on by, and you'll be fine.

 

The little boy lost in the lonely fen,
Led by the wand'ring light,
Began to cry, but God ever nigh,
Appear'd like his father in white.

He kissed the child & by the hand led
And to his mother brought,
Who in sorrow pale, thro' the lonely dale,
Her little boy weeping sought.

.....As you walk the deadman-shoes...
    Your father's ghost lies upon you.
    But worry no more, you soldier's son...
    Just walk on by, and you'll be fine.

 

My mother groan'd! my father wept,
Into the dangerous world I leapt,
Helpless, naked, piping loud,
Like a fiend hid in a cloud.

Struggling in my father's hands,
Striving against my swadling bands,
Bound and weary, I thought best
To sulk upon my mother's breast.

 

Sleep, sleep, beauty bright,
Dreaming in the joys of night;
Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit & weep.

Sweet babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.

As thy softest limbs I feel,
Smiles as of the morning steal
O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast
Where thy little heart doth rest.

O the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep!
When thy little heart doth wake,
Then the dreadful night shall break.

 

Once a dream did weave a shade
O'er my Angel-guarded bed,
That an Emmet lost its way
Where on grass methought I lay.

Troubled, 'wilder'd and folorn,
Dark, benighted, travel-worn,
Over many a tangled spray,
All heart-broke I heard her say:

"O my children! do they cry?
Do they hear their father sigh?
Now they look abroad to see,
Now return and weep for me."

Pitying, I dropp'd a tear;
But I saw a glow-worm near,
Who replied: "What wailing wight
Calls the watchman of the night?

"I am set to light the ground,
While the beetle goes his round:
Follow now the beetle's hum;
Little wanderer, hie thee home."

 

Whate'er is Born of Mortal Birth,
Must be consumed with the Earth
To rise from Generation free;
Then what have I to do with thee?

The Sexes sprung from Shame & Pride,
Blow'd in the morn: in evening died;
But Mercy chang'd Death into Sleep;
The Sexes rose to work & weep.

Thou Mother of my Mortal part,
With cruelty didst mould my Heart;
And with false self-decieving tears
Didst bind my Nostrils Eyes & Ears.

Didst close my Tongue in senseless clay,
And me to Mortal Life betray:
The Death of Jesus set me free:
Then what have I do do with thee?

 

And did those feet in ancient time,
Walk upon Englands mountains green:
And was the holy Lamb of God,
On Englands pleasant pastures seen!

And did the Countenance Divine,
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here,
Among these dark Satanic Mills?

Bring me my Bow of burning gold:
Bring me my Arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariot of fire!

I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:
Till we have built Jerusalem,
In England's green & pleasant Land.

 

O Rose, thou art sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm:

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

 

Bard Records BACD-2
Released May 25 1998
Sleeve: Subtopia
Paintings by William Blake
Photos: Jo Michael
Art-direction: Stein J. Øvre & Finn Coren

Sound the Flute!
Now it's mute.
Birds delight
Day and Night;
Nightingale
In the dale,
Lark in Sky,
Merrily,
Merrily, Merrily, to welcome in the Year.

Little Boy
Full of joy,
Little Girl
Sweet and small,
Cock does crow,
So do you;
Merry voice,
Infant noise,
Merrily, Merrily, to welcome in the Year.

Little Lamb
Here I am,
Come and lick
My white neck,
Let me pull
Your soft Wool,
Let me kiss
Your soft face;
Merrily, Merrily we welcome in the Year.

 

Dear Mother, dear Mother,
     the church is cold,
But the Ale-house is healthy
     & pleasant & warm;
Besides I can tell where I am used well,
Such usage in heaven will never do well.

But if at the Church they would
     give us some Ale
And a pleasant fire our souls to regale,
We'd sing and we'd pray all the
     live-long day,
Nor ever once wish from the Church to stray.

Then the Parson might preach
     & drink & sing,
And we'd be as happy
     as birds in the spring;
And modest dame Lurch,
     who is always at Church,
Would not have bandy children,
     nor fasting, nor birch.

And God, like a father rejoicing to see
His children as pleasant and happy as he,
Would have no more quarrel
     with the Devil or the Barrel,
But kiss him & give him
      both drink and apparel.

 

When the voices of children are
                heard on the green
And whisp'rings are in the dale,
The days of my youth rise
                fresh in my mind:
My face turns green and pale.

Then come home my children,
                the sun is gone down
And the dews of night arise;
Your spring & your day are wasted in play,
And your winter and night in disguise.

 

As I wander'd the forest
The green leaves among,
I heard a wild flower
Singing a song.

I slept in the Earth
In the silent night;
I murmur'd my fears
And I felt delight.

"In the morning I went
As rosy as morn
To seek for new Joy
But I met with scorn."

 

I was angry with my friend,
I told my wrath, my wrath did end;
I was angry with my foe,
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I water'd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an appel bright;
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine.

And into my garden stole
When the night had veil'd the pole:
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree.

 

Tyger, Tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger, Tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

 

Little Lamb, who made thee:
Dost thou know who made thee?
Gave thee life & bid thee feed
By the stream & o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, wooly,bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice
Making all the vales rejoice?
Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?

Little Lamb, I'll tell thee,
Little Lamb, I'll tell thee:
He is called by thy name,
For he calls himself a Lamb.
He is meek & he is mild:
He became a little child:
I a child & thou a lamb,
We are called by his name.
Little Lamb, God bless thee.
Little Lamb, God bless thee.

 

I walked abroad in a snowy day
I ask'd the soft snow with me to play;
She play'd & she melted in all her prime,
And the winter call'd it a dreadful crime.

 

I Dreamt a Dream! what can it mean?
And that I was a maiden Queen:
Guarded by an Angel mild:
Witless woe, was ne'er beguil'd!

And I wept both night and day
And he wip'd my tears away
And I wept both day and night
And hid from him my hearts delight.

So he took his wings and fled:
Then the morn blush'd rosy red:
I dried my tears & armed my fears
With ten thousand shields and spears.

Soon my Angel came again;
I was arm'd, he came in vain:
For the time of youth was fled
And grey hairs were on my head.

 

Little Fly
Thy summer's play,
My thoughtless hand
Has brush'd away.

Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?

For I dance
And drink & sing:
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life
And strenght & breath,
And the want
Of thought is death,

Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live
Or if I die.

 

How sweet I roam'd from field to field
And tasted all the summer's pride,
Till I the prince of love beheld
Who in the sunny beams did glide!

He shew'd me lilies for my hair,
And blushing roses for my brow;
He led me through his gardens fair
Where all his golden pleasures grow.

With sweet May dews my wings were wet,
And Phoebus fir'd my vocal rage;
He caught me in his silken net,
And shut me in his golden cage.

He loves to sit and hear me sing,
Then, laughing, sports and plays with me;
Then stretches out my golden wing,
And mocks my loss of liberty.

 

As I wander'd the forest
The green leaves among,
I heard a wild flower
Singing a song.

I slept in the Earth
In the silent night;
I murmur'd my fears
And I felt delight.

"In the morning I went
As rosy as morn
To seek for new Joy
But I met with scorn."

 

Bard Records BACD-3
Released October 25 1999
Sleeve: Subtopia
Photos: Nils-Arne Øvergård, Finn Coren,
Nils Chr. Boberg, Guri Dahl,
Knut E. Wang, Bjørn William Lindgren,
Finn Gerhard Voldnes and Stein J. Øvre
Art-direction: Stein J. Øvre & Finn Coren

We're here for a moment
And then we're gone
A moment here, and a moment there..

Open a new door
and close your sorrows down

I want you to be my driver
Can I sit with you
For a little while

I've burned my bridges down
I'm off the old roundabout
On to something else..

Down in the Trenches, I fall out
Embrace me in your healing light
I'm dying by inches, bit by bit..

Mother & Father God
Where am I going?
Where am I going?

Down in the Trenches, I found out
In a room called Tomorrow
Only a kiss away, only a kiss away.. from you

And I see you now.. I see you clearly now

It's my last day of Innocence
It's my last day of Innocence
It's my last day of Innocence
It's my last day of Innocence..

I shall open the doors of perception,
Leave the dark night of my soul
I shall see the deep pearl rising
And heart of burning gold
I have begun

 

Please tell my mother, I tried
To break those bonds
That led my life

That I shall be gone a fortnight
To rewrite
The book of my life

And tears of joy
Streaks a worn face
And my heart is happy

 

There is a Smile of Love,
And there is a Smile of Deceit,
And there is a Smile of Smiles
In which these two Smiles meet.

And there is a Frown of Hate,
And there is a Frown of Disdain,
And there is a Frown of Frowns
Which you strive to forget in vain;

For it sticks in the Heart's deep Core
And it sticks in the deep Back bone,
And no Smile that ever was smil'd,
But only one Smile alone,

That betwixt the Cradle & Grave
It only once Smil'd can be;
But, when it once is Smil'd,
There's an end to all Misery.

 

Come and play, it's a beautiful day
Love is smiling your way
The sun is high, the grass is green
Down here on love-field

Blind Little Girl
- Make my heart, make my heart beam
Blind Little Girl

I had a dream, a wonderful dream
You were there, I was there too
Come and play, it's a sunny day
Love is smiling on your face

Blind Little Girl
- Could you only see, I'm in love with thee
Blind Little Girl

All that I ask from you, just a little smile
So come on baby, show me a sign
Come flood this heart of mine

Blind Little Girl
- Take me home to your heart
Blind Little Girl
- Don't tear me apart
Blind Little Girl
- Make my heart, make my heart dance
Blind Little Girl
- High above the stars

Come on baby, show me a sign
Come flood this heart of mine

Blind Little Girl
- Could you only see, I'm in love with thee
Blind Little Girl
Blind Little Girl
- Make my heart , make my heart beam
Blind Little Girl
- High above the stars
Blind Little Girl

 

It's alright
You can go to sleep now
Said the man
"The would-be-murderer"

Poison Girl go to sleep
Poison Girl

I stood in the rain
Waving Love away
There's still Lucy in my head
'Won't leave me be

The devil moves in mysterious ways..

Poison Girl go to sleep..

She took the apple away,
she's got a worm in her brain..
She took the apple away,
she's got a worm in her brain..

As I sat in the rain
I suddenly realized
You should have shut your mouth
You should have

You sold me down the river
You're a liar and a thief
Oh, Lucy, Lucy, Lucy
You must take your leave

Listen to the mockingbird
Listen to the mockingbird
Oh, Lucy, Lucy, Lucy
What shall become of me

Oh, Lucy, Lucy, Lucy
You must take your leave
Away, away, away
From the drowning young man

 

All the heavy days are over;
Leave the body's coloured pride
Underneath the grass and clover,
With the feet laid side by side.

Bathed in flaming founts of duty
She'll not ask a haughty dress;
Carry all that mournful beauty
To the scented oaken press.

Did the kiss of Mother Mary
Put that music in her face?
Yet she goes with footstep wary,
Full of earth's old timid grace.

'Mong the feet of angels seven
What a dancer glimmering!
All the heavens bow down to Heaven,
Flame to flame and wing to wing.

 

I wanna run and play
Chasing the Rainbow
But there's no easy way
Leading to the meadow

I am not colourblind
Upon my life
I'm gonna make you mine
You crazy old Rainbow

Forgive me darling,
but I don't know where to start
But I got a good head for heights
Into a slumber I fall
Oh, Let's grow wings and fly

Every way I go
Is a way home
Hear these tender words
I'm chasing the Rainbow

Forgive me darling,
but I don't know where to start
But I got a good head for heights
Into a slumber I fall
Oh, Let's grow wings and fly

 

Shake, Shake up the World
And your pride too
I guess it's not easy for you
Little Boy Blue

Shake, Shake up the World
And rock the Boat
Get out of this sorry state now
Little Boy Lost

And with your head held high
And a smile there, on your face
Just one inch from becoming what you are
..To the toppermost of the poppermost..

Shake, Shake up the World
Not moon about
Do something worthwhile, baby
Pick the Roses now

Shake, Shake up the World
Little Boy Blue
And with your head held high
You will come through

With every Cloud
There's a silver lining
And there's more than meets the eye
..To the toppermost of the poppermost..

Shake, Shake up the World
Life go where you go, baby
Shake, Shake up the World
Neck or nothing, It's neck or nothing..
It's the wild blue yonder..wild, blue yonder..
Shake, Shake up the World

 

Let's sidle up
And watch the moon sail away
Into the milky skies
I'll sway

Oh, keep me safe from this
From the love and pain
I'm in love
And that's my shame

Dwarfman, don't be sad
Sailing moon will take you for a ride
Dwarfman..
But you must leave your proud heart behind

Let the morningmoon
Be your guiding light
"Selene" will be there
And she will be your eyes

But I'm in love
And that is what hurting me
Just a little boy
On his knees

Dwarfman, just you close your eyes
And then you fly into the scarlet night
Dwarfman..
And you'll find yourself on a Lovecloud ..

Lovecloud..

...your kingdomdays will soon come again,
          my friend..
hello moonhead..wake up

Dwarfman, don't be sad
Sailing moon will take you to the skies
Dwarfman..
And there you'll find the girl with the emerald eyes

Dwarfman, just you close your eyes
And then you fly into the scarlet night
Dwarfman..
And there you'll find yourself on a Lovecloud..
     ..nine moons of jupiter came rolling by..
fly,fly,fly away..

 

The man he only sleeps
When it's daylight time
He is broken down
In his dreams

I'm so tired of her
Tailing my heart
Why can't she love me for me
Why insist on a blindfold

Hostile Sea is all around me
It's too late now
Can't you see, I'm going down
Under the shade of your love

The man he always sleeps
With his eyes wide open
He is broken down
In his heart

Hostile Sea is all around here
It's too late now
Can't you see, I'm going down
Under the shade of your love

 

I took all the horses
I rode fast, fast
I fell off the horses
Bloody white horses

I took the elevators
I took them downtown
I took the elevators
All the way down..
fall fall fall.. falling down

Don't, don't leave me here
This is not a deathbed
I'm just asleep
Don't, don't leave me here
No...

My nerves are shot
I'm down below
I saw bloodspots
In the virgin snow

I need a drink
To take me home
I was happy, happy, happy
At the Darling Downs

Don't, don't leave me here
I'm not dead
I'm just asleep
Don't, don't, don't leave me here
No...

I live from day to day
I throw flowers in the sink...
I live from day to day
I throw flowers in the sink...

 

Riverboatman
Row me over
To the times
When the world was not crazy

When I was a boy
And no scars in my heart
And the Earth
Was not hurting

Let your lantern guide us there
Let your lantern guide us home

Riverboatman
Row me over
To the times
When greed was no ruling

When we were pure
In our souls , in our hearts
No black clouds
Above our shoulders

Let your lantern guide us there
Let your lantern guide us home

Riverboatman
Row me over
To the times
When the world was not crazy

When I was a boy
And no scars in my heart
And the Earth
Was not hurting

Let your lantern guide us there
Let your lantern guide us home

 

Everything she wanted...
Everything she cried for...
Everything she needed...
Everything, everything...Everything and more

Oh, It's so cold and dark out here, my dear
Did you ever see me at all
In this dark
Did you ever see me at all..

Everything she wanted...Everything and more
Everything she longed for...Everything and more
Everything she felt....Everything and more
Everything, everything, everything...
Everything and more

Oh, It's so cold and dark out here, my dear
Did you ever feel me in your heart
Feel me in your heart
Did you ever feel me at all..

Firefly, firefly whereever you turn,
Whereever you land
Firefly, firefly something will burn...
Firefly, firefly whereever you turn,
Whereever you land
Firefly, firefly something will burn...
Something will burn..

Did you ever feel me in your heart...
It's all dark now
Did you ever feel me in your heart...
Fragile and doomed.. Our love
Did you ever feel me in your heart...

Everything she wanted...Everything and more
Everything she cried for...Everything and more
Everything she needed...Everything and more

 

And I feel the night is leaving me blind now
And I feel I have to lie down again
I know our time has gone, I know you've gone

And me who thought I really really loved you
I've been a fool for a long while
I'm so tired baby, of being your clown

Yes, I'm worn at the edges
Worn at the edges
I'm tired, so tired

I know I'll have to change my life today
Cause I feel I'm falling down the cellar grey
So I lay myself down, just float away

Cause I'm worn at the edges
I'm worn at the edges
I'm tired...of playing these games with you
Worn at the edges
Worn at the edges
Can you hear me ..
There's a wasteland in my heart

 

Grow old along with me
The best is yet to be
When our time has come
We will be as one
God bless our love
God bless our love

Grow old along with me
Two branches of one tree
Face the setting sun
When the day is done
God bless our love
God bless our love

Spending our lives together
Man and wife together
World without end
World without end

Grow old along with me
Whatever fate decrees
We will see it through
For our love is true
God bless our love
God bless our love

 

Bard Records BACD-4
Released September 20 2008
Sleeve: Stein J. Øvre
Photos: Morten Krogvold, Jens Hauge, Asbjørn Jensen, Anette Kristiansen
Paintings: John Everett Millais, Rigmor Voldnes
Art-direction: Stein J. Øvre & Finn Coren

English translations by Robin Fulton.
Lyrics reprinted with permission from
Bodil Cappelen & Det Norske Samlaget, Norway
Robin Fulton & Anvil Press, London.

«It is forbidden to copy and/or use the poems without written permission from Det Norske Samlaget, Oslo and Anvil Press, London.»

Det er den draumen me ber på
at noko vedunderleg skal skje,
at det må skje -
at tidi skal opna seg
at hjarta skal opna seg
at dører skal opna seg
at berget skal opna seg
at kjeldor skal springa -
at draumen skal opna seg,
at me ei morgonstund skal glida inn
på ein våg me ikkje har visst um.

IT'S THE DREAM

It's the dream we carry in secret
that something miraculous will happen,
that it must happen -
that time will open
that the heart will open
that doors will open,
that the rockface will open
that springs will gush -
that the dream will open,
that one morning we will glide into
some little harbour we didn't know was there.

 

Sju vindar, sju vindar
sulla og song.
Sju vindar, sju vindar
fann himmelen trong.

Sju vindar, sju vindar
møttest i kast.
Då vart det runddans,
då rauk det kvast!

Sju vindar, sju vindar
skilde lag.
Og alle vindar
søv i dag.

SEVEN WINDS

Seven winds, seven winds
hummed and sang.
Seven winds, seven winds
found the heavens too small.

Seven winds, seven winds
clashed in squalls.
A wild reel there was,
and dead leaves swirled.

Seven winds, seven winds
went their ways.
And all the winds
are asleep today.

 

Kom ikkje med heile sanningi,
kom ikkje med havet for min torste,
kom ikkje med himmelen når eg bed um ljos,
men kom med ein glimt, ei dogg, eit fjom,
slik fuglane ber med seg vassdropar frå lauget
og vinden eit korn av salt.

DON'T GIVE ME THE WHOLE TRUTH

Don't give me the whole truth,
don't give me the sea for my thirst,
don't give me the sky when I ask for light,
but give me a glint, a dewy wisp, a mote
as the birds bear water-drops from their bathing
and the wind a grain of salt.

 

Song, trø lett på hjarta mitt,
trø lett som klokkelyng på søkkjemyr,
som fugl på nattgamal is.
Bryt du skorpa til kvida,
druknar du, song.

SONG, TREAD LIGHTLY ON MY HEART

Song, tread lightly on my heart,
tread lightly as bell-heather on watery moor,
as bird on overnight ice.
Break the crust of pain,
song, and you'll drown.

 

Eit tre i brand
i sol og storm
slo himmelhøgt
sin raude orm.

Ein gneisterher
mot høgdi steig.
Og treet song.
Og kruna seig.

Kvar månenatt
syr sylv i skjegg
på skrymtet på
den nakne egg.

Ei knokehand
stend att og sver
i morgonstund
ei nykveikt verd.

A TREE ON FIRE

A tree on fire
in sun and storm
tossed sky-high
his scarlet snake.

A horde of sparks
rose to the heights.
And the tree sang.
And the crown sagged.

Each moonlit night
sews silver in the beard
of the ghost up there
on the cliff-edge.

A bony hand
remains, ushering
as morning breaks
a newly-wakened world.

 

Det stend eit tre i hagen
og sprikjer i vårkalde dagen
med skinande nysnjo-grein.
Det duskar mot stoveglaset
og drys yver fjorgamle graset
blomane ein for ein.

Og det er kirsebærtreet
innanfor hageleet
som blømer i tidleg vår.
Mot gråe skytjeveggen
luter det krokne leggen
og signar oss atter eit år.

Tusund angande blomar
brusar um tak og plomar;
heilagt og kvitt og stilt
skin det i døkke næter
og freden i tunet gjæter
- ei jartegn på vår og mildt.

Det speglar seg bljugt i strondi,
og minner um austerlondi,
um japanske hagar og dikt.
Det tøygjer toppen i tråe
mot alle snjofjell blåe,
til vår i kulden vigt.

THE CHERRY TREE

In my garden there's a tree
wide in the spring-cold day
with bright new-snow branches.
It taps against my window
and over last year's grass
drizzles blossoms one by one.

It's the cherry-tree
inside the garden gate
blooming in early spring.
Against the grey woodshed
it leans its crooked trunk
blessing us with one more year.

Thousands of billowing petals
swirl round roofs and gable-carvings
sacred and white and soft
the tree shines in cheerless nights
and peace rests on the farmstead
- an omen of spring and mild air.

Its shy reflection in the water
brings the Far East to mind,
Japanese gardens and verses.
The tree-top stretches in longing
towards all the blue snow-mountains,
in the cold devoted to spring.

 

Eg merka våren i dag.
Osane blenkte kring landet.
Millom ljosleggja bjørker
var fura byrja å ande.

Stig, sol, og lokk utfor vegg
kvart frose barn!
Og eg vil gløda i solavlen
kalde jarn.

SIGNS OF SPRING I

I noticed spring today.
The willows glittered everywhere.
Among white-stemmed birches
each pine started to breathe.

Rise up, sun, entice out of doors
every frozen child.
And in the sun's vigour I shall make
cold iron glow.

 

Kva er dette for ein trompet
som kling so høgt
i morgonsoli,
kva røyst er dette
som talar
so djervt
og vekkjande?
Tiger, engel,
løynd glør
elden din,
vengene falda
til fjøral gang.
Eg har lenge
høyrt deg på jordi
skilleg, klårt -
millom håse lurar og stutabrøl.

WILLIAM BLAKE

What sort of trumpet is this
resounding so fully
in the morning sun,
what voice
so bold
and rousing?
Tiger, angel,
your fire
glows in secret,
wings folded
for feather-light gait.
I've long heard you
on earth
clear bright
among hoarse alp-horns and brassy bawling.

 

Du toler ikkje sjå lukka,
du i din stakkarsdom,
utan å stikka eit egg
giftig i hennar blom.

Du toler ikkje sjå viljen
reisa seg frisk og rak
utan å slå brest i han,
ytra tvil um hans sak.

Prøv ikkje leida livet
dødsmerkte, kalde hand.
Snu deg og gå mot døden,
då er du endå mann!

YOU CAN'T BEAR

You can't bear seeing happiness,
you in your misery,
without setting a germ
of poison in her bloom.

You can't bear seeing a strong will
rise up fresh and upright
without striking and flawing him,
spreading doubt of his word.

Don't try to lead life,
cold death-marked hand.
Turn round and walk towards death,
then you're still a man.

 

Du ber steinguden
der inni deg.
Og du tener han truge
og ofrar til han i løynd.
Kransar og kveikte kjertar
ber du til han
med blodige hender,
endå du kjenner
kjøldi av han
i hjarta ditt
og veit dine drag
vert stive som hans
og din smil
like kald.

THE STONE GOD

You carry the stone god
within you.
You give him loyal service
and secret offerings.
Wreaths and lit candles
you bring him
with bloody hands,
yet still feel
the coldness of him
in your heart,
know your breath
hardens like his
and your smile
as chilled.

 

Det er ikkje berre regnet
som gjer at eg stoggar
under den gamle eiki
attmed vegen. Det er
trygt under den vide
kruna, det må vera
gamalt frendskap som gjer
at eiki og eg kan stå der
og tegja, lyda til regnet
tipla i lauvet, skoda ut
i den gråe dagen,
venta, forstå.
Verdi er gamal, tenkjer me,
og me eldest båe.
I dag stend eg ikkje turt,
lauvet har teke til å detta,
det luktar syrleg i den
råe lufti, eg kjenner
dropane gjenom håret.

I PAUSE BENEATH THE OLD
OAK ONE RAINY DAY

It's not just the rain
that makes me pause
beneath the old oak
by the roadside, it feels
safe beneath the broad
crown, it must be
old friendship that lets
the oak and me stand there
silent, listening to the rain
drip in the leaves, looking out
in the grey day,
waiting, understanding.
The world is old, we think,
and we're both ageing.
Today I'm not standing dry,
the leaves have taken to falling,
there's a sour smell in
the raw air, I feel
the drops through my hair.

 

Det er kaldt i store hus.
Eg merkar det um hausten
når dei fyrste flingror snø tek til å falla
og marki hardnar under kulden.
Då er ho stor og aud, mi einsemd,
og gisi under taket,
og hoggi gnell i frosen skog.
Min skog er skog
i hennar skog,
mitt fjell er fjell
i hennar fjell,
og dagen er ein ljoskeglett
i hennar natt.
Dei fåe menneske og dyr eg møter,
som puslar litt i gråljoset med bar og kvist
og set sine far i rimet,
er skuggeskrimsel i hennar draum.

IT'S COLD IN BIG HOUSES

It's cold in big houses.
I notice that in autumn
when the first snowflakes start falling
and the ground hardens under frost.
Then it looms bleakly, my loneliness,
and the roof is full of cracks,
and the axe-blow yelps in the frozen forest.
My forest is a forest
in its forest,
my mountain a mountain
in its mountain,
and the day a glint
in its night.
The few people and animals I meet,
pottering in the gloom with pine needles and sprigs
and leaving their footprints in the rime,
are shadowy glimmers in its dream.

 

Eg stend her no
ein broten mann.
Og attum ligg
mitt ungdoms land.

Min krins er trong,
min veg er vrang,
og fåe linor
auga sprang.

Du gjeng til andre
etter eld.
Men den vil slokna
ut ein kveld.

For anns manns røynsle
har ikkje verd
den stund du stend
for drege sverd.

Ditt hjartans ljos
i flar, i blund,
er alt du har
i dødens stund.

I STAND HERE NOW

I stand here now
a broken man.
And behind me lies
the land of my youth.

My circle is narrow
my road is obstinate,
there are few lines
for my eye to follow.

You went to others
looking for fire.
But that will die out
one night.

Another man's experience
won't help you
when you're face to face
with a drawn sword.

The light of your heart
flaring up, flickering down
is all you have
at the hour of your death.

 

Det er den svarte prikken
midt i skiva du skal treffa,
nett den, der
skal pili stå og dirra!
Men nett der treffer du ikkje.
Du er nær, nærare,
nei, ikkje nær nok.
So lyt du gå og plukka upp pilene,
gå tilbake, prøva på nytt.
Den svarte prikken tergar deg.
Til du forstår pili
som stend der og dirrar:
Her er òg eit midtpunkt.

MANY YEAR'S EXPERIENCE WITH BOW AND ARROW

It's the black dot right
in the middle you're to hit,
right there, where
the arrow will stand trembling!
But just there is where you don't hit.
You're close, closer, no,
not close enough.
So it's off to pick the arrows up,
walk back, try again.
The black dot teases you.
Until you understand the arrow
that stands there trembling:
here too is a mid-point.

 

Å vakna, og kjenna
sitt hjarta falla
steintungt og myrkt
mot forherding ...

Seint lyfter havet si bylgje,
seint rodnar skog i djuvet,
seint byrjar logane å sleikja i helvete,
seint gjeng sanningi upp ...

SLOWLY THE TRUTH DAWNS

To waken, and feel
your heart sink
heavy and dark
and hardening ...

Slowly the sea lifts its billow,
slowly the woods redden in the gorge,
slowly the flames begin to lick in hell,
slowly the truth dawns.

 

Det var lite for deg
men mykje for meg:
Eit smil då det galdt
og eit handtrykk var alt.

Tåre,
du tarv ikkje falla,
eg veit du er salt.

TEAR, YOU DON'T HAVE TO FALL

It was little to you,
but much to me:
a smile when it mattered
and a hand-clasp was enough.

Tear,
you don't have to fall,
I know you are salt.

 

Det er den draumen me ber på
at noko vedunderleg skal skje,
at det må skje -
at tidi skal opna seg
at hjarta skal opna seg
at dører skal opna seg
at berget skal opna seg
at kjeldor skal springa -
at draumen skal opna seg,
at me ei morgonstund skal glida inn
på ein våg me ikkje har visst um.

IT'S THE DREAM - epilogue

It's the dream we carry in secret
that something miraculous will happen,
that it must happen -
that time will open
that the heart will open
that doors will open,
that the rockface will open
that springs will gush -
that the dream will open,
that one morning we will glide into
some little harbour we didn't know was there.

 

Dette lyt du bera:
at du ikkje strakk til,
at du var venglande fjør,
ikkje oddtung pil
i den sterke vinden.

Du kleiv ikkje bergi,
rodde ikkje vatnet,
drap ikkje draken, -
du kom ikkje då ho,
den einaste, ropa.

Um du var snøa med snø,
driven med dogg,
slegen med regn,
skulde du kome.
Valund med hogde
hælsenar sat,
men gjorde seg venger;
du sat og smidde
leikor åt born.

I draumar fær du,
ender og gong,
kliva bergi,
ro vatnet,
drepa draken,
koma til henne.
Soleis vert ditt liv
fullbyrda.

THIS YOU MUST BEAR

This you must bear:
That you weren't good enough,
that you were a wavering feather
not a heavy-tipped arrow
in the strong wind.

You didn't scale the crag,
didn't row the water,
didn't kill the dragon -
you didn't come when she
- the only one - called.

If you were stifled by snow
bedevilled by dew
slashed by rain
you should have come.
Valund with hacked
heel-tendons sat
and made himself wings;
you sat and tinkered
with toy-making.

In dreams you travel
now and then,
scale the crag,
row the water,
kill the dragon,
come to her.
That's how your life
finds its fruition.

 

Ingen har varda den vegen
du skal gå
ut i det ukjende,
ut i det blå.

Dette er din veg.
Berre du
skal gå han. Og det er
uråd å snu.

Og ikkje vardar du vegen,
du hell.
Og vinden stryk ut ditt far
i aude fjell.

YOUR WAY

No-one has marked out the road
you are to take
out in the unknown
out in the blue.

This is your road.
Only you
will take it. And there's no
turning back.

And you haven't marked your road
either.
And the wind smooths out your tracks
on desolate hills.

 

Det er gamle skuggar
du syng for,
skuggar av
deg sjølv.

Ufødde syner trugar
din dag, - når
skal du gjeva
dei liv?

Enno er det tid,
meiner du,
- graset er enno
grønt.

THERE'S STILL TIME

It's old shadows
you sing for,
shadows of
yourself.

Unborn visions threaten
your day - when
will you give them
life?

There's still time,
you think
- the grass is still
green.

 

Du bur under bergfall.
Og du veit det.
Men du sår din åker
og trør trygt ditt tun
og lèt dine born leika
og legg deg
som inkje var.

Det hender,
når du stør deg til ljåen
ein sumarkveld,
at augo sviv som snarast
yver bergsida
der dei segjer
sprekken
skal vera,
og det hender
du vert liggjande vaken
og lyda etter
steinsprang
ei natt.

Og kjem raset,
kjem det ikkje uventa.
Men du tek til å rydja
den grøne boti
under berget
- um du då har livet.

BENEATH THE CRAG

You live beneath a crag,
knowing you do.
But you sow your acre
and make your roofs fast
and let your children play
and you lie down at night
as if it weren't there.

One summer evening
perhaps
as you lean on your scythe
your eye will skim
across the crag
where they say
the crack is,
and perhaps one night
you'll lie awake
listening for
a falling stone.

And when the rock-slip comes
it will not be a surprise.
But you'll set to and clear
the green patch
beneath the crag
- as life allows.

 

Dette vågar du,
slå augo upp
og sjå deg ikring?
Jau, du er her,
her i denne verdi,
du drøymer ikkje,
ho er slik du
ser henne, tingi her
er slik.
Slik?
Ja, nett slik,
ikkje onnorleis.
Kor lenge har du sove?

HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN SLEEPING?

You actually dare
to open your eyes
and look about you?
Oh yes, you're here,
here in this world,
you're not dreaming,
it's like this, the way
you're seeing it, things here
are like this.
This?
Oh yes, just like this,
no other way.
How long have you been sleeping?

 

Kjem T'ao Ch'ien
på vitjing ein dag, vil eg
syna han kirsebærtrei og aplane mine,
eg vil helst han skal koma um våren
når dei stend i blom. Etterpå skal me sitja i skuggen
med eit glas sider, kanskje kan eg syna han
eit dikt - um eg finn eitt han likar.
Drakane som skyt yver himmelen med gift og røyk etter seg,
gleid stillare i hans tid, og fleire fuglar kvitra.
Her er ingen ting han ikkje vil forstå.
Meir enn fyrr har han hug å draga seg attende
til ein slik hageflekk.
Men eg veit ikkje um han gjer det med godt samvit.

T'AO CH'IEN

If one day T'ao Ch'ien
came to visit me, I
would show him my cherry and apple trees,
and I'd prefer him to come in spring
when they're in blossom. Then we'd sit in the shade
with a glass of cider, perhaps I'll show him
a poem - if I can find one he'd like.
The dragons that blaze across the sky trailing poison and smoke
soared more quietly in his time, and more birds sang.
There's nothing here he'd not understand.
More than ever he'd want to retire
to a little garden like this.
But I don't know if he'd do so with a good conscience.

 

Når eg spelar på fele i Dooney,
gjeng dansen som bylgje på sjø;
ein slektning er prest i Kilvarnet,
og bror min er òg i Guds brød.

Eg såg dei nett her um dagen,
dei las i si bok og bad;
eg les dei visor eg kjøpte
på marknad i Sligo stad.

Når tidi ein gong tek ende
og me stend utfor Peters grind,
vil han smila åt oss, gamle sjeler,
men ropa meg fyrst inn.

For dei gode er alltid dei glade,
um ikkje ulukka fanst,
og dei glade likar fela,
og dei glade likar dans.

Når folk der fær auga på meg,
vil dei ropa og takten trø:
«Der er spelemannen frå Dooney!»
Og dansa som bylgje på sjø.

THE FIDDLER OF DOONEY

When I play on my fiddle in Dooney,
Folk dance like a wave of the sea;
My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet,
My brother in Mocharabuiee.

I passed my brother and cousin:
They read in their books of prayer;
I read in my book of songs
I bought at the Sligo fair.

When we come at the end of time
To Peter sitting in state,
He will smile on the three old spirits,
But call me first through the gate;

For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,
And the merry love the fiddle,
And the merry love to dance:

And when the folk there spy me,
They will all come up to me,
With 'Here is the fiddler of Dooney!'
And dance like a wave of the sea.

 

 

Eg merka våren i dag.
Osane blenkte kring landet.
Millom ljosleggja bjørker
var fura byrja å ande.

Stig, sol, og lokk utfor vegg
kvart frose barn!
Og eg vil gløda i solavlen
kalde jarn.

SIGNS OF SPRING II

I noticed spring today.
The willows glittered everywhere.
Among white-stemmed birches
each pine started to breathe.

Rise up, sun, entice out of doors
every frozen child.
And in the sun's vigour I shall make
cold iron glow.

 

Var det ikkje du som kom dansande i solskinet
millom selje og hatlerunnar, -
låtten din steig i ei glitrande drive
og klukka so djupt, so djupt,
og var det ikkje kastet av lokkane dine?
Jau, det var du.

Og var det ikkje du som stod att uppi haugane
og stakk solvinden med kvasse nåler
so tårone rann?
Jau, det var du.

WASN'T IT YOU?

Wasn't it you who came dancing in the sunshine
between willow and hazel copses -
your laughter rose glittering
chuckling so deep so deep
and wasn't it the toss of your locks?
Yes, it was you.

And wasn't it you who stayed on
up in the hills
and filled the warm wind with sharp needles
making the tears run?
Oh yes, it was you.

 

Når eg vaknar, høgg
ein svart ramn i hjarta mitt.
Skal eg aldri meir vakna
til hav og stjernor, skogar og natt,
morgon med fuglar?

WHEN I WAKEN

When I waken, a black
raven hacks at my heart.
Shall I never again waken
to seas and stars, woods and night,
morning with birdsong?

 

Du er ingi gåte, Ofelia,
berre den gåta eit liv og eit hjarta er.
Kor umogeleg og flokut livet kan verta!
Kvar skulde me gå
um me ikkje hadde sorgi og døden?
Dans, Ofelia, syng!
Strøy rosor ikring deg,
røm inn i eit myrkare rom,
det er ljuvare der, dagen der
er ikkje so hard.
Når kvida si eldpil sting deg,
so syng, Ofelia, dans!
Vollgravi er strøydd med rosor.

OPHELIA

You're no enigma, Ophelia,
only the puzzle a life and a heart are.
How stubborn and tangled life can be.
Where would we go
if we didn't have sorrow and death?
Dance, Ophelia, sing!
Scatter roses around you,
run away into a darker room,
it's sweeter there, the day there
not so hard.
When the fiery point of anguish stings you
sing, Ophelia, dance!
The moat is scattered with roses.

 

Innestengde i det svivande
skrymthuset - livet,
med gluggar som kvar
opnar mot
si røynd,
bur me,
lever me, -
samlast flest alle
i den store gluggen,
dette er verdi,
segjer me.

Ved gluggen din
sat
berre du, -
augo svart
diamant,
hjarta
ein blodstein.

PAUL CELAN

Shut inside this rotating
ghost-house, life,
with little openings each
giving on
its own reality
- we live,
are at home here -
most of us gather
at the biggest one,
this is the world,
we say.

At yours
sat
only you -
eye black
diamond,
heart
a bloodstone.

 

Svart morgonmjølk me drikk ho um kvelden
me drikk ho middag og morgon me drikk ho um natti
me drikk og drikk
me grev ei grav ut i lufti der ligg ein ikkje trongt
Ein mann bur i huset han leikar med ormane han skriv
han skriv når det myrknar til Tyskland ditt gylne hår Margarete
han skriv det og gjeng ifrå huset og stjernone gneistar han fløyter på hundane
han fløyter jødane sine ut og byd dei grava ei grav i jordi
han byd oss spel upp no til dans

Svart morgonmjølk me drikk deg um natti
me drikk deg morgon og middag me drikk deg um kvelden
me drikk og drikk
Ein mann bur i huset han leikar med ormane han skriv
han skriv når det myrknar til Tyskland ditt gylne hår Margarete
Ditt oskegrå hår Sulamith me grev ei grav ut i lufti der ligg ein ikkje trongt

Han ropar grav djupare i jordi de der de andre syng no og spel
han grip etter jarnet i beltet han svinger det augo er blå
stikk spaden djupare de der de andre spel upp til meir dans

Svart morgonmjølk me drikk deg um natti
me drikk deg middag og morgon me drikk deg um kvelden
me drikk og drikk
ein mann bur i huset ditt gylne hår Margarete
ditt oskegrå hår Sulamith han leikar med ormane

Han ropar spel søtare død døden er ein meister frå Tyskland
han ropar slå strengene djupare som røyk skal de stiga til vêrs
då har de ei grav i skyene der ligg ein ikkje trongt

Svart morgonmjølk me drikk deg um natti
me drikk deg middag døden er ein meister frå Tyskland
me drikk deg morgon og kveld me drikk og drikk
døden er ein meister frå Tyskland augo er blå
han treffer deg med blykulor han treffer deg godt
ein mann bur i huset ditt gylne hår Margarete
han hissar hundane på oss han gjev oss ei grav ut i lufti
han leikar med ormane og drøymer døden er ein meister frå Tyskland

ditt gylne hår Margarete
ditt oskegrå hår Sulamith

TODESFUGE

Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken sie abends
wir trinken sie mittags und morgens wir trinken sie nachts
wir trinken und trinken
wir schaufeln ein Grab in den Lüften da liegt man nicht eng
Ein Mann wohnt im Haus der spielt mit den Schlangen der schreibt
der schreibt wenn es dunkelt nach Deutschland dein goldenes Haar Margarete
er schreibt es und tritt vor das Haus und es blitzen die Sterne er pfeift seine Rüden herbei
er pfeift seine Juden hervor läßt schaufeln ein Grab in der Erde
er befiehlt uns spielt auf nun zum Tanz

Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
wir trinken dich morgens und mittags wir trinken dich abends
wir trinken und trinken
Ein Mann wohnt im Haus der spielt mit den Schlangen der schreibt
der schreibt wenn es dunkelt nach Deutschland dein goldenes Haar Margarete
Dein aschenes Haar Sulamith wir schaufeln ein Grab in den Lüften da liegt man nicht eng

Er ruft stecht tiefer ins Erdreich ihr einen ihr andern singet und spielt
er greift nach dem Eisen im Gurt er schwingts seine Augen sind blau
stecht tiefer die Spaten ihr einen ihr andern spielt weiter zum Tanz auf

Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
wir trinken dich mittags und morgens wir trinken dich abends
wir trinken und trinken
ein Mann wohnt im Haus dein goldenes Haar Margarete
dein aschenes Haar Sulamith er spielt mit den Schlangen
Er ruft spielt süßer den Tod der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland
er ruft streicht dunkler die Geigen dann steigt ihr als Rauch in die Luft
dann habt ihr ein Grab in den Wolken da liegt man nicht eng

Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
wir trinken dich mittags der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland
wir trinken dich abends und morgens wir trinken und trinken
der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland sein Auge ist blau
er trifft dich mit bleierner Kugel er trifft dich genau
ein Mann wohnt im Haus dein goldenes Haar Margarete
er hetzt seine Rüden auf uns er schenkt uns ein Grab in der Luft
er spielt mit den Schlangen und träumet der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland

dein goldenes Haar Margarete
dein aschenes Haar Sulamith

 

Kva er det som har drive meg ut
under denne stride morgonhimmelen?
Dei blå, kravstore stjernone,
kva er det dei vil?

Fjelli lovar ingenting, - vik berre
so dei slepper fjorden inn
og elvane ned, og stend
forherda under snøen.

Men skoglidi, skoglidi har kasta seg langflat
og nækt si armod under stjernone.
Det er mi eigi kvide, mi eigi sårnaud
som ligg der jarnsvart og blødande
og sver å grønkast og syngja.

BENEATH THE STARS

What is it that has driven me out
beneath this hard morning sky?
These blue demanding stars,
what is it they want ?

The hills promise nothing - just
give way, letting the fjord fill up
and the rivers run down. The hills
feel nothing beneath the snow.

But the wooded slopes are prostrate
baring their need beneath the stars.
It's my owns pain, my own hurt
lying there black as iron and bleeding
and vowing to turn green again and sing.

 

No kveikjer Vårherre sitt joletre
i den kvite vinternatt.
All den glitrande stasen, barn,
vilde du gjerne hatt.

Himmelgrani so fin og blå
har greiner av tandrande ljos;
karlsvogner kjem frå langferd der,
og måneskip sigler sin kos.

Du vil gripa og leika, barn.
Og kanskje skal di hand
ein gong plukka månar ned
og sløkkja stjernor i brand.

WINTER NIGHT

Our Lord now lights up his Christmas Tree
in the white winter night.
All that glittering splendour, child,
you'd like to be yours.

The heavenly spruce is fine and blue
its branches sparkle and sparkle.
Charles' Wains arrive from afar
and moonships follow their courses.

You want to catch hold and play, child.
And perhaps one day your hand
will pluck moons down
and put out burning stars.

 

Eg dreg ifrå glaset fyrr eg legg meg,
eg vil sjå det levande myrkret når eg vaknar,
og skogen og himmelen. Eg veit ei grav
som ikkje har glugg mot stjernone.
No er Orion komen i vest, alltid jagande -
han er ikkje komen lenger enn eg.
Kirsebærtreet utanfor er nake og svart.
I den svimlande blå himmelklokka
ritar morgonmånen med hard nagl.

I OPEN THE CURTAIN

Before going to bed I open the curtain,
I want to see the living darkness when I wake,
and the forest and the sky. I know a grave
without a peep-hole to the stars.
Orion's come in the west, forever on the hunt -
he's come no further than I.
The cherry tree outside is bare and black.
In the huge blue curve of heaven
the morning moon draws with a hard nail.

 

Lat oss glida inn
i svevnen, i den
logne draumen,
glida inn - tvo
deigemne i den
gode bakaromnen
som heiter natt.
Og so vakna
um morgonen
tvo gylne
kveitekakor!

SLEEP

Let's glide into
sleep, into
the calm dream,
glide in - two
lumps of dough in
the good oven
called night.
And then waken
in the morning
two round
golden loaves!

 

Bard Records BACD-5
Released October 21 2011
Sleeve: Stein J. Øvre
Portraits of Jens Bjørneboe: SCANPIX, Jon-Ivar Fjeld, Horst Tuuloskorpi and Ulf Aas

Portraits of Finn Coren: Stein J. Øvre
Paintings: Rigmor Voldnes, Finn Coren
and Jens Bjørneboe
Art-direction: Stein J. Øvre and Finn Coren

Lyrics by Jens Bjørneboe
reprinted with permission from
Gyldendal Litteratur, Norway.
"Sten mot ruten: dikt i natten"
by André Bjerke reprinted with permission from Aschehoug Forlag AS, Norway.

"It is forbidden to copy and /or
use the poems without written
permission from Gyldendal Litteratur,
and Aschehoug Forlag AS, Oslo, Norway."

Mitt hjerte det er et foreldreløst barn,
det har hverken hjem eller sted å bo,
det har ikke klær, ikke mat og sko,
det har hverken seng eller barnetro,
Det har ingen ro.

Mitt hjerte det er en fattiggutt.
Han vandrer bestandig fra gård til gård,
han tigger om brød og en melketår,
han tigger om klut å ha på et sår.
Og han tar hvad han får.

Han tigger om filler og ting å ha på,
å få sitte på krakken og hvile en stund,
å få ligge på låven og få seg en blund.
Men så stanger en stut, og så bjeffer en hund.
En mann bruker munn.

Mitt hjerte det er et foreldreløst barn.
Det har glemt sin mor. Det har glemt sin far.
Men det spør efter dem overalt hvor det drar.
Og det spørsmål er alt hvad det eier og har.
Og det får ikke svar.

Så tok jeg i hånden den fattiggutt
og talte til ham: Du vet at du er
den eneste ting ved meg selv jeg har kjær.
Din far har du søkt både fjernt og nær.
Han er ikke her.

Din far han bor bak blåner syv.
Der har han det vakreste slott som fins,
og finner du dit, blir du glad til sinds.
Mitt hjerte, mitt hjerte, da blir du prins.
Da blir du prins.

 

Jeg vet ikke hvor jeg har hørt det sist:
"Hvem er et menneske og ikke skyldbevisst?"
Hvem er et menneske, som ikke vet
At han bør frykte all rettferdighet?

Det er min sum av alt hva jeg har sett:
Jeg håper Gud lar nåde gå for rett!
Jeg håper Gud i himmelen vil si:
Rettferdigheten, barn, den glemmer vi.

Spør meg om "skyld"! Det er et grusomt ord.
Enhver er skyld i alt som skjer på denne jord!
I blygsel skal du snu ditt ansikt bort:
Hva én har syndet, har vi alle gjort.

Vi har sett uskyld, og vi skjendet den.
Vår egen store skyld er alt vi har igjen.
Vi har sett skjensler, og vi lot dem skje.
Ti det var skjensler, alt vi kunne se!

Vi har lidt urett. Vi begikk det selv.
Og vi ble mordere den samme kveld.
Man handler blindt. Man er i beste tro.
Mens man er rød til albuen av blod!

I våre hjerter der er loven lagt,
Og hver en tøddel av den står ved makt.
Alt står som onde bilder fra en rus:
Av jorden har vi gjort et slaktehus!

Akk, vi må bøye oss i skam og si:
Rettferdigheten, Gud, dén frykter vi!
Hvem er et menneske som ikke vet:
Vi trenger nåde og barmhjertighet!

Jeg vet ikke hvor jeg har hørt det sist:
Hvem er et menneske og ikke skyldbevisst?

 

Der sover et barn ved min side.
Barnet er tyve år.
Å Gud, forstyrr henne ikke!
Hun sover med utslått hår!

Hun svelger og smiler i søvne.
Hun drømmer nok noe inatt!
Først drømmer hun om en kakebit
og efterpå litt om en katt!

Hun sover så godt, den lille.
Hun våkner aldri av skrekk.
Så hvis jeg selv skulle sovne,
da springer hun ikke vekk!

 

Å pike, pike - jeg har sett deg atter
Og jeg kjente deg igjen.
Jeg kjente dine øyne og din latter.
Men allting var jo meget mer, min venn.

Visst husker jeg hver linje i ditt smil,
slik som du smilte engang på en vei.
Jeg husker dine kyss og din profil ...
Det eneste jeg helt har glemt, er deg!

Jeg ser på deg. Det gjør meg matt av gru
at du står der, og ikke kan forstå
at du er død: Du er jo ikke Du!
Du er jo bare én hun ligner på.

 

God aften, venn, jeg ser du kommer atter!
Du ville tale litt med mig ikveld?
Du ville høre mine fottrinn og min latter,
og se om allting gikk mig riktig vel?

Du vet så godt at jeg er alltid trofast,
og du kan komme når du vil til meg.
I mine tanker er du evig bofast;
der har jeg bygget op et hus til dig.

Det hender når jeg sitter ensom inne
at jeg blir næsten lykkelig, fordi
en stor og stille fred går gjennem sindet.
Da vet jeg hvem det er som drar forbi.

Du går forbi og kaller sakte på mig,
og det gjør godt å vite det er du.
I disse dager kan din stemme nå mig;
den er det eneste som når mig nu.

Ja, du kan være sikker: Jeg skal komme!
En aften når du søker mig igjen,
da skal jeg legge sammen alle bøker
og reise mig og følge dig, min venn!

 

Og jeg som skulle være som en pil!
På vei mot målets høye helligdom
som bare skyttens stille jegersmil
allvitende og nådeløst vet om!

Og jeg som skulle være som en pil!
Som søkte vei til tidens offersted,
jeg smuldrer i en slyngplante av tvil!
De som vet veien, ofrer ikke med.

Nei, de som vet, de ofrer ikke med!
Og skyttens smil var mange netter dødt.
Men ennu kold av bitter nattesved

så jeg i morgenlysets purpurrødt
(og det ble taust i meg, da jeg fikk se det):
At selve tvilen er jo offerstedet.

 

Spurven, barndommens grå fugl,
er oss usigelig trofast.
Vår og høst er den bofast,
fra Sankte Hans til jul!

Holdt du som gutt en grå dag
nettopp en ullen, sånn'en,
gråspurv forsiktig i hånden?
Spurven som bare er hjerteslag!

Bare et hjerte med vinger på!
Brune, forblåste hender
varmer om dyret - og kjenner
plutselig hele fuglen slå!

 

Du våkner av sorg om natten;
du vet hvad det er;
igjen har han sittet og sett på deg.
Igjen var han nær.

Han ser på dig når du spiser.
Han ser på dig når du vil le.
Han ser på dig når du sover.
Du våkner ofte av det.

Du våkner i svette om natten,
badet i iskoldt vann.
Drømmen lyver aldri:
Ditt isflak driver fra land.

Alltid den samme mann.

 

Hun gråter og gråter, den unge mor.
Hun gråter og gråter sig ned.
Og ingen ting på den grønne jord
kan gi hennes hjerte fred.

Hun gråter istykker hver tro og bønn.
Hun gråter til natten tar slutt.
Hun gråter over sin lille sønn,
sin lille, døde gutt.

Hun gråter istykker sitt eget liv,
Hun gråter sitt liv ihjel.
Hun gråter sig gammel og krum og stiv.
Snart gråter hun ut sin sjel.

Så kommer en natt, da står han der
på nakne, bløte føtter,
skjønt alle vet jo at han er
i ro mellem rognens røtter.

Han står der søvnig og ser sig om,
han gnir seg med hånden i øyet,
så liten og lys i det mørke rum,
så kold og våt i tøyet.

Og moren står op: jeg ventet dig!
Så er min sorg da slutt.
Så kom du da igjen til mig,
min lille, døde gutt.

Da sier han: Mor, av all din gråt
blir jeg så kold rundt kraven.
Jeg får ikke sove når skjorten er våt,
da ligger jeg våken i graven.

 

Av alle Herrens goder
er fred vår største skatt.
Å, tilgi oss, Guds Moder
For det som skjer inatt!

Å, lytt til våre bønner:
Velsign og frels hver sjel,
Når våre menn og sønner
Går ut og slår ihjel!

Og noen slår sin broder
Og noen mangler brød.
Å, hellige Guds Moder,
Inatt skal noen dø!

 

De gav meg tredve sølvpenger, og jeg
- som ante noe meget mer i dette -,
jeg tok imot og viste dem den rette.
Hva var det hele blitt til uten meg?

I haven var det mørkt. Og mellem seg
tok knektene ham bort, forvåkne, trette.
Og han var blek, men skrittene var lette.
Så tok jeg pengene og gikk min vei.

Det var en vår. Og grenen som jeg valgte
var tung og duvende av blomstersne.
Så var vi begge frukt - på hvert vårt tre.

Før Passah var det; husene var kalkte.
Før det ble Sabbath, måtte dette skje:
De andre - flyktet: Bare vi to ble.

 

Jeg ser på sneens hvite jag
bak vindu, vegg og dør.
Så gammel som jeg er idag
var aldri noen før.

Nu raser kulden i mig selv,
og i mitt bryst sner noe ned.
Jeg får nok sikkert ro ikveld,
men denne ro blir ingen fred.

I stuen er en annen mann;
vi to er gamle kjente nu.
Han hersker over alle land.
For mange er hans navn en gru.

Hør majestetens vingeslag
omkring min vegg og mot min dør!
Så gammel som jeg er idag
var aldri noen før.

 

Hellige, fruktbare - de som gjør undre,
disse som evner hvad ingen tror?
Hvem har de vært i et svunnet århundre?
de som gjør jorden til mere enn jord?

De som har kraft til å så og velsigne
kornet og bordet og barn og venn?
Hvem kan de være? Hvem kan de ligne?
Kommer de virkelig aldri igjen?

Løfter du lampen, legg sverd og bile,
verktøy og hammer og sko og stokk
ute ved døren og se dem i hvile -,
disse hvis sovende trekk er nok!

Hvor er de kommet fra? Spør ikke, venner!
Ser du dem smile? - De er ikke dét.
Alt de kan være i elskende hender,
er mer enn ditt drømmende øye kan se.

 

Natten inatt er hellig.
Noe skal skje.
Det som skal komme fra himlen
er ikke bare sne.

Natten inatt er hellig.
Noen skal dø inatt.
Nysådd og angst og matt
spirer en himmel i isen
der gaten er blank og glatt.

Natten inatt er hellig.
Noen skal fødes inatt.
Vår mørke, kjølige klode
er ikke helt forlatt.
Fra hennes lysende søstre
kommer der noen inatt.

 

Langs veggene i høy spaliér
er klatret opp et rosenflor,
og solbærbusk og epletre
beskytter huset hvor vi bor.

En nyfødt pike og en mor
og rosenstokk ved rosenstokk
på samme underlige jord
er mere enn mirakel nok!

Og stenger jeg mot havens luft,
så puster jeg her inne
en evig-vårlig blomsterduft
av spebarn og av kvinne:

En evighet av melk og ro,
en nyfødt pike og en mor.
Hvor de er søstre begge to,
en bitte liten og en stor!

 

Alene du, o skjønnhet, er den samme!
Jeg ser deg bare oftere enn før.
All jordens ting blir tynnere enn slør
og gjennemlyses mektig av din flamme.

Alt ved din skygge står vi sky og lamme
av skrekkslått lykke - stumme ved din dør.
O skjønnhet, la de gjerninger vi gjør
velsignes og få tjene som din ramme!

All skapning vil fortæres av sin vé
inntil den brister til sitt dype jeg,
hvor alt har dine trekk og ligner deg.

I våre spor vil dette bli å se:
Selv er du livets voldsomme forvandling
fra stoff til flamme i den skjønne handling!

 

I
Å, allnatur, her er din sønn
Vår yngste og fortapte bror
Vi fant ham bak en fengselsmur
Vi bringer ham og har en bønn
Til deg som er hans sanne mor:
Ta ham tilbake, allnatur
La ham bli aske, vann og jord!

II
Vi fant ham og vi bærer ham
Som han ble båret av sin mor
Så ren og ubrukt som et lam
Vi fant ham og vi har ham her
La ham bli gress og vind og trær
Og nypetorn og rognebær
Han var blitt nitten år og stor
Vi fant ham bak en fengselsmur
Ta ham tilbake, allnatur!
Ta vare på vår yngste bror.

III
Nå har vi bragt vår yngste bror
Vi fant ham bak en fengselsmur
Ta ham tilbake, allnatur
Han var ditt verk, du er hans mor
Ta vare på vår yngste bror
La ham bli aske, vind og jord.

 

Det var en vakker morgen
Udi Hiroshima by.
En sommermorgen nittenfemogførti.
Og solen ja den lyste
Fra en himmel uten sky,
En sommermorgen nittenfemogførti.

Småpikene de lekte
Udi have og blant trær
Og gjorde allting slik de store gjorde.
De pyntet sine dukker
Og de vasket dukkeklær
Og kvinnene skar brød på kjøkkenbordet.

Og mange småbarn var det
Som stadig lå iseng
For dette var en tidlig morgentime
Mens solen strålte deilig
Og mens duggen lå på eng
Og blomster nettopp åpnet sine kroner.

Det var en vakker morgen
Udi Hiroshima by
En sommermorgen nittenfemogførti.
Og solen ja den lyste
Fra en himmel uten sky,
En sommermorgen nittenfemogførti.

 

Som grener i et kratt av rosenbusker
er våre sjeler slynget om hverandre
og våre hjerter vokset helt isammen
så ingen evighet kan skille dem ...

Ja, bøy deg stille over meg, venninde
og se meg inn i sjelen - se og se!
Mitt blikk er inni deg, og ditt i meg,
de møter ingen motstand i hverandre,
din sjel er i mitt indre ... helt
min sjel i din
mitt hjerte er et barn under ditt hjerte.

Ligg stille nu, venninde! Slik som himlen
er hvelvet over jorden denne natt
og stille speiler seg i vann og elver -
slik speiles du mot bunnen av mitt blikk.
For under dine øynes stjernebilde
er jeg en jord av skoger og av sjøer ...

 

JENS BJØRNEBOE IN MEMORIAM

Det er en sommernatt engang i tiden
for fire tusen sommernetter siden ...

Og jeg har lagt meg.Men et klokkespill
slår plutselig alarm i hodeputen:
et gutteværelsevindu klirrer til
av sten mot ruten.
Og det er ingenting man heller vil
enn å bli vekket litt i sommernatten,
for vel er klokken 12 - men jeg er 18.

Og attenåringen er lutter øre
for sten mot rutene i måneskinn.
En stemme: "Det er Vallen.Slipp meg inn!
Jeg fant et dikt ikveld som du må høre."

Så går i natten til det gryr av dag
et nyoppdaget dikt av Vilhelm Krag:
"D e n u f o r b e d e r l i g e"- lest av ham
som fant ikveld sitt eget livsprogram.

Det er som om det skulle hendt igår;
men ruten klirret gjennom førti år,
og alltid var det Vallen som kom inn
med siste funn av dikt i måneskinn.

Mitt gutteværelsevindu er det samme.
Der står en sommernatt i glass og ramme
som før - og ingen tid er gått imens.
En rute klirrer! Det må være Jens.

Å, uforbederlige natteånd:
det kunne ligne deg å komme sånn!
Jeg våker. Jeg er fortsatt lutter øre.
Fant du et dikt inatt som jeg må høre?