After most of these translations have been sitting around for five years, I finally got it somewhat together.
After most of these translations have been sitting around for five years, I finally got it somewhat together.
Taken years wander around,
too Bored with day and night
.
The wind hisses,
newly kindled stars gaze
.
Hugen cuts after, in me,
while clouds ignore and the birds swear
.
Are then waking the night in vain
and fathoming the moonbeams
over this bloomed out meadow
.
Surrounded traces of this life
become gladness itself to a shimmer,
which runs
through its ground base
before hope is expected
and avoiding
the formed heritage
where inaccessible turns,
waiting, Calling, waiting
.
One inside all the Light in here is played;
hearing wind whisper itself amongst leaves
in front of this awaited death duty plight
A rare functioning love insight
.
.
.
BLISS!
LOVE!
NECTAR!
Poured in a few warming glances for sweetly rare memories
to carry away, pity gone by, to enclose this inviolable,
yet get to sense those wet summer meadows caress my legs,
to catch the calm wind close to the corner of this stable
.
Dreamed,
I am everywhere down here called a dreamed
.
A hidden,
inside indecisions; the seasons rake me in as gone
.
Glances of Life linger on to remain inside the bitter hurted
and to guest the old property as if this life still was alive,
as if an unknown mist hanged on to this very Life perished,
as would my life still remain in Life as my own Life
.
(Coldly clear. A partly unhinged wooden gate creaks wind,
opened unto a forgotten yard whose remains can be sighted slightly.)
.
Leaned over wooden boxes filled up with potatoes and carrots,
smelling in filled bags with mealy apples in the foyer cold
which all lasted as long as Winter would hand its permission
.
(Frost stricken. The gravel path glimmers its fragile floes,
small stones set inside the frozen sand did glisten still.)
.
I am snared sorrow-wise, bilious, mild-eyed, fragile and lost
like the last apple shined witnessed left on its winter branch
sees this year’s harvest of autumn leaves beauty rolled in frost
.
I stand ended,
alone left unarmed against unreality’s gruesomeness
.
Sidling up to the charcoal kiln forgotten by the region
in thinking of friends’ swords drawn out from the field below
.
Underneath the darkness,
fresh laid snow mounds in a blue bleak winter night
.
.
.
Brewed afterglow:
Dead stars’ cries of regret in the night
beneath gleamingly lingering daybreaks remain ―
Unreachable
.
The filthy flour is milled bitterly
down among the Aesir-betraying scum
Blood-letted, wronged, all that is foul!
Truth forgotten, all high forced to dream!
.
Imitate not the dead eternelles, you sorrowseeds!
Raise not your tearfilled voices to a false comfort
around those soiled words of impermanence
Quelled spikes shall die! DIE! DIE! DIE!
.
Lowest are brought here through the entrapments,
and when Good intentions is missing; will flicker dead,
parasites impose themselves not trustworthy symbioses,
excruciating, in denial of Holy Knowledge with an empty spite
.
We all participate in this Fated battleground
The War continues for Odmade against doomed
Condemned breathe; but have nothing for it
Condemned die, for their will does it
.
OWNERSHIP IS NOTHING YOU CAN HAVE
MIGHT STAND YOU NOT TO FIND HERE
.
COME NEAR THE NEW TIMES REAL DEMANDS
MEET A WORLD WHERE ALL CHOSEN IS KEPT
GROWTH OR BE DAMNED IS THE CHOICE LEFT,
AS WE ALL KNOW THAT RAGNAROK IS NEAR
COME WINDS! STORMS!
COME LIFE IN MIGHT! IN BLOOD FROM BLOOD!
COME TIME’S FORCE ― MIGHT OF ODIN!
.
THE GODS ARE LIFE’S AND DEATH’S RULES
ALWAYS PRESENT HERE AND SET ABOVE!
.
DENY THE FRIEND-ROTTEN LOATHSOME ALL WORDS!
HEAVE AWAY HIDDEN IN DREAM AND EARLY FOR NOTHING!
LET THE TRUTH MUTE ALL OF THE DIMNESS AND DOUBT!
VIET OWNS MIDGARD ALONE AND WED IN LIFE HERE!
.
THE WAR IS TEARING ― DRIVES FORWARD A FINAL REVENGE
AND BLOOD WETS THE BARK ― RUNS IN THE RIGHT TRACKS!
.
WE ENABLE HERE TRUTH, HONOUR AND RIGHT!
WE TAKE HOME LOVE, FREEDOM AND MIGHT!
THE LAW IS THAT WE SHALL BE WHAT WE ARE!
.
COME TIME’S FORCE ― MIGHT OF ODIN!
COME LIFE IN MIGHT! IN BLOOD FROM BLOOD!
COME WINDS! STORMS!
You, you so roseborn and luminous,
in guise and lifted into nothingness,
out of fear blunted blind and bound,
selling grief all its laughable advices
.
You, you lie springless and inconsolable,
in famine outside of Truth’s Mercy
.
This is tragic
.
It is the broken’s tears
.
This is freedom in a world of dross
.
You weathered down call yourself perfect
while life’s dumb illusions become wills
and thoughts shape more dumbness
to explain reasons for all dumbness
.
Waivers of the only raised above
are tolerating vexed ridiculous ideals,
defined out from futilities’ stomachs
and will be found where miseries hunts
.
For while all High is praised
you love with what is spoiled
.
Ends
scraped forth
in suffering
where naught was
and soon forgotten
in turned sight’s snaring deeds
.
Warming this powerless pathfinder
which should loathe suffering’s might,
before he here infected will self-starve
outside the existence of Truth’s mercy
Weedbundles to catch
Nettles to eat
Blindfolds to carry
Walls to bury
Life to sort
In drunken swagger after slightest right to hold loved
sifts the funny farms steadily for what is most sane
while the scum lie absent-minded with a red apple in the mug
Un-astute unwieldy ― Wretched,
grubbing in exchangable Nothing,
turns around,
not unlike stinking and staring cows
And hardships small bread crumbs look good in darkness’ corner
while the very finest scum oink away to their babble songs
Retards demand to equal eachother to live furthest down
in clutching after cheap thought-jewelry and life-pettiness
Misgrowth is dug up ideals: Meaningless crass experiences
But, unclean will remain being Gladness’ most rare guests
Weedbundles to throw
Nettles to grow
Blinfolds to burn
Walls to build
Life to sort
Living merely in my autumn leaves, watercourses and clouds,
like a kissed harvest pulled by longings silenced promises
and as unwillingly begged, hard nightflowered and teared
The forest sun-striated (Dreamed in Life’s Windsnare)
meanwhile the raining leaned in slowly, hesitent steps
(Watching melting, hectically dripping under springsun’s might)
In stonelee will soon the violets be placed harrowed here again
and then fade, shyly slouch, under the night-time’s journey
(Enough about that.)
Stepping up a daily route and got beautiful together with dawning
and when later the rain carefully fell asleep weary beside the evening
down under raking forest tree tops underneath the greyspeckled skies
was springs-ground seen turning home to barrenly (and slowly) drink thaw
Gazing miles wide around over the halfway snow stained mounds
where furrowed fields stood silent as frozen, stopped sea waves,
while the Winds hit, took headway from all four sides, then suddenly!:
At precisely the right time beams from the Sun broke in over the district
The springtender light lit carefully (Warmed the last years grass)
and little shadows flickered themselves quickly over creek and river
I have eye-caressed the pinebedded grounds fairest days
before nocturnal fog arose around tender forestshadows
Beneath rainpines’ dripping greeted my sight modest flowering,
together with the rain teared down with most broken branches
Indulgent crop on sweet forest ploughed strips, stay here.
O!
You so easily bought, mightless and tarned,
trapped scabby with the loss of lust caught,
fully emptied of rights: Necessarily trashed!
You…
You! Forgotten remaining in a worn and fouled
You! Eyetiredly drowned in permanent quicksand
You tracelessly left to be helpless,
you filthy weak and meek, listen up a while!
Long enough has wished for been searched down in unwanted
while illusions has been emptied of gladness
where false found thought-worthy qualm unthought thought
and exertedly spilled its power on the pitiful needs
Only misanthropists can love what our world has become
while deprived and crushed promises been mortarized
for the weed itself has scuffled in thirst after our blood,
around, and down, at the poisoned well’s places
And few wish little more than to qualify as wretch…
It is me anyway so bitingly bitter to break
with ripped apart society’s broken
where the crippled and dizzy demand Life to crippled be
Hardly.
Hidden in my last winter abode came Death
alike a frail and excusing crying mourner
and sat down in apprehension, in whispering:
Searched here for Life itself to befriend,
in the wounded, in your lone dying
We are left here, a shadowfree storm,
holding our rugged words against darkness,
pressing the nights hours; teaching us coldness
(Got dragged here through the lands inside darkness
Carried over all the time distances, stones and ices)
And cold has just my fairness in its word,
while emptiness,
has its emptiness stuck in the Weave