I thought I would start this blog out very simple. I am currently working on, as a side project to my Edward Choice blog (look in the pages at top), to translate my very old poems about personalities. I had then, so many years ago, called the poems into the group of ideal personalities, those that you can find yourself as a part of at times. I think it was from these I developed an interest in Archetypes, and it is those that have given rise to the archetypes, which are so dominant in the world of Choice. Today I am posting my translation of the insistent romantic. It is fitting for a writer, to write about a romantic, as a first thing, so that is what I am doing.
Notice this is a very different poem from the danish one. I have completely rewritten it, with some sentences being the same.
The
insistent romantic
With this,
the rose, in hand.
Every pump
of heart, beats in rhythm:
Barum tum, barum tum, barum,
It slows, from
this, which is, his iron grip
Slowly
From that,
of the rose, she strains.
Every
scream she makes, cause a cringe of his nose:
Fiideee
fiddaa, fiideee fidaaa, fiiiii
It ends, in
that, I wonder if, the heart held
Fast
Into this, the
night, she blooms
Every drop
of blood, a bud in the night:
Drip drip,
drip drip, drip
He writes,
in this, sprung from, her blood
Love
He is, a
gardener, to tend
Every
flower he cuts, and must from drink:
Glug glug,
glug glug, glug
It grows,
if cut, making room, for yet new bloom
Life
She is,
lying dead, in ground
Every
correction possible, to the earth around:
No sound…
It was,
only mould, it still is, only mould
Grave
Den insisterende Romantikker
12.1.2007
Med rosen i sin hånd,
flyder blodet fra hans jerngreb.
Hjertet pumper,
Langsomt.
Nøjsommmelig hans næse rynker,
var det mon hjertet der holdt,
fast.
Hans rose blid-id,
bliv nu udsprunget.
Skriver i deres blod,
som vinen går i svælget
Rører de ægtes læber,
rundt i tomgang
til natten er slut.
Nu ligger hun,
jordens irretesættelse,
græsset evigt grønt.
Det var bare muld.
Det er det stadig.
© Jakob Kaul
