The insistent romantic

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