The star i lived on is no more
the sun in whose retinue
the star moved round the world
is no more.
the life i owned,
the life that was the blood s delight and agony,,
is no more.
that dead star among stars,
that dead sun among sun among suns,
that dead face among faces
which was mine,
i remember no more.
but i am.
Arvid Mörne
Translation © David McDuff
Poems by Arvid Mörne (1876-1946)
RăspundețiȘtergereEpilogue
My poet’s lyre is broken.
A new one’s not in store.
If still you hear a raucous cry
Of gulls, sea, skerried shore,
It is the resonance from a world,
A poem-world that’s no more.
For rhythm’s spirit swells alone
In breasts that can breathe free,
And sprays of rhyme against the sun
Are white-green as the sea.
But struggle in grey and ice-cold mist
Is what fate gave to me.
With enemies behind, and enemies
Before, a struggle fought
With the rabble’s ‘but’ and the rabble’s ‘if’
For what the rabble ought,
A struggle in mire that chokes, but where
By the age’s flag we’re brought.
My lyre, like the skerry’s rowan,
Loved all the winds, but best
The roaming and spraying and singing south-west.
It sounded to the melody of the sea
In the days it sounded happiest.
My poet’s lyre is broken.
A new one’s not in store.
I’ll leave them, all my songs
Of gulls, sea, skerried shore
Inside my empty summer house,
And quietly lock the door.
(Translate in english David McDuff)