Poem
Torgeir Rebolledo Pedersen
ELEGY
Life’s a trapAt worst a mass grave, at best a graveyard
Each alone and each under his stone
A stone on defiance
A stone on kindness
A stone on generosity
A stone on sympathy
And a stone on laughter
Only Death would grant asylum to
Life’s a funeral
Each grief alone in a long, long row
One grief staring into another’s back
And then griefs blended to a grave beer
A sort of joy of mumbling bumblebees
Life revivified by that
Resurrected harvest lads
Resurrected harvest lasses
Life that puts on life
and life that puts on death
Life each alone and each under its stone
A stone from defiance
A stone from kindness
A stone from generosity
And a stone from laughter
A stone lifted for each loss
Life where everything returns to life (and death)
We are the oats We are the rye We are the rapeseed
We are bluebellers and wheatgermers and we are pledged to God
In holy water mumbling bumblebees
Resurrected harvest lads Resurrected harvest lasses
Rewept pathways now retrodden linking folk and folk
Whole landscapes rebuilt
For the moon’s sickle and Mammon’s scythe
© Translation: 2013, David McDuff
ELEGI
ELEGI
Livet er en felleI verste fall en massegrav, i beste fall en gravlund
Hver for seg og under hver sin stein
En stein på oppsetsigheten
En stein på vennligheten
En stein på storsinnet
En stein på lettrørtheten
Og en stein på latteren
Den bare Døden ville gi asyl
Livet er en gravferd
Sorgen hver for seg i lang lang rekke
En sorg stirret inn i ryggen på en annen
Og så sorger ristet sammen til et gravøl
En slags glede tilsatt muml av humle
Livet gjenoppgått av dette
Gjenoppståtte slåttekarer
Gjenoppståtte onnejenter
Livet som tar på seg liv
og livet som tar på seg død
Livet hver for seg og under hver sin stein
En stein fra oppsetsigheten
En stein fra vennligheten
En stein fra storsinnet
Og en stein fra latteren
En stein løftet for hvert savn
Livet der det står til liv (og død)
Vi er havren Vi er rugen Vi er rapsen
Vi er blåklokkere og hvetekimere og vi er viet Gud
I vievannet tilsatt muml av humle
Gjenoppståtte slåttekarer Gjenoppståtte onnejenter
Gjenoppgråtte gjenoppledde stier mellom folk og folk
Hele landskap gjenreist
For å tekkes månens sigd og mammons ljå
© 2000, Torgeir Rebolledo Pedersen
From: Regnestykke for en sky
Publisher: Forlaget Oktober, Oslo
From: Regnestykke for en sky
Publisher: Forlaget Oktober, Oslo
Poems
Poems of Torgeir Rebolledo Pedersen
Close
ELEGY
Life’s a trapAt worst a mass grave, at best a graveyard
Each alone and each under his stone
A stone on defiance
A stone on kindness
A stone on generosity
A stone on sympathy
And a stone on laughter
Only Death would grant asylum to
Life’s a funeral
Each grief alone in a long, long row
One grief staring into another’s back
And then griefs blended to a grave beer
A sort of joy of mumbling bumblebees
Life revivified by that
Resurrected harvest lads
Resurrected harvest lasses
Life that puts on life
and life that puts on death
Life each alone and each under its stone
A stone from defiance
A stone from kindness
A stone from generosity
And a stone from laughter
A stone lifted for each loss
Life where everything returns to life (and death)
We are the oats We are the rye We are the rapeseed
We are bluebellers and wheatgermers and we are pledged to God
In holy water mumbling bumblebees
Resurrected harvest lads Resurrected harvest lasses
Rewept pathways now retrodden linking folk and folk
Whole landscapes rebuilt
For the moon’s sickle and Mammon’s scythe
© 2013, David McDuff
From: Regnestykke for en sky
From: Regnestykke for en sky
ELEGY
Life’s a trapAt worst a mass grave, at best a graveyard
Each alone and each under his stone
A stone on defiance
A stone on kindness
A stone on generosity
A stone on sympathy
And a stone on laughter
Only Death would grant asylum to
Life’s a funeral
Each grief alone in a long, long row
One grief staring into another’s back
And then griefs blended to a grave beer
A sort of joy of mumbling bumblebees
Life revivified by that
Resurrected harvest lads
Resurrected harvest lasses
Life that puts on life
and life that puts on death
Life each alone and each under its stone
A stone from defiance
A stone from kindness
A stone from generosity
And a stone from laughter
A stone lifted for each loss
Life where everything returns to life (and death)
We are the oats We are the rye We are the rapeseed
We are bluebellers and wheatgermers and we are pledged to God
In holy water mumbling bumblebees
Resurrected harvest lads Resurrected harvest lasses
Rewept pathways now retrodden linking folk and folk
Whole landscapes rebuilt
For the moon’s sickle and Mammon’s scythe
© 2013, David McDuff
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