Thursday 17 June 2010

Klaus Høeck's variations on a theme by Grundtvig, from 'In Nomine'


        i walked abroad one
summer’s day to hear all kinds
        of transistorra

dios blaring at full volume from
rugård landevej and my own

too for that matter from here
inside the green labyrinth well mixed up

        stirred and thoroughly
blended with songs of birds that
        through my heart could sear


        songs of birds that through
my heart could sear at three ’o
        clock in the morning

(before the devil’s up and a
bout and even the holy spirit’s

still asleep drunk on roses on him
self and on the damp scent of grain)

        i listened in ex
celsis and from far below
        in the deep green vales


        in the deep green vales
beneath the heart and the a
        bysses of the mind

grundtvig’s hymns blossom and set
their hips and their itching powder and their

living word along with their
ultimative demands made on the flesh

        and on the soul that
attempts to conceal itself
        midst the nightingales


        midst the nightingales
that are not singing any
        more (since midsummer

has long since passed like a secret
fire at the back of the head) among

the trees in the garden of udby
rectory i count the beats of

        the cuckoo’s heart and
of my own and all those small
        birds that speak so clear


        and the other birds
that speak so clear and that sing
        and cheep and chirp and

chatter and kick up a racket
from morning to evening and cackle

and crow i drown out completely with my
very own variation

        on the old danish
folk song: ‘i walked abroad one
        summer’s day to hear’


        and the other birds
that speak so clear i ask the
        following question:

will you lend me your wings when the time
comes in gratitude for all the

grain and white bread and sunflower
seed will you – you small jackinaboxes

        so my soul can fly
away up to paradise
        midst the nightingales?


        midst the nightingales
and the fires caused by pyro
        maniacs in lang

eskov amidst summer light
ning and caravans we extravagant

ly frittered away our lives on what
is referred to as nothing: long

        walks that took us out
to the sea and excursions
        in the deep green vales


        in the deep green vales
beyond any form of sense
        and of utili

tarianism midst mozart’s
horn concertos and forgetmenots

behind trinitatis’ tremen
dous mirrors we wasted our time on

        what is referred to
as nothing: songs of birds that
        through my heart could sear


        i walked abroad one
summer’s day to hear a fair
        ytale that i know

extremely well but that even so
is new every time it is told

(almost like evening church bells peal
ing or like the folk high school song book)

        by the tall trees in
the forest and all those small
        birds that speak so clear


(for a translation of Grundtvig's original poem, go to here)

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