Message of a Defeat
Morten Nielsen
I am standing on a divan,
speaking a strange kind of drunken nonsense.
I insist on preaching the art
of proclamation
to an audience of beer and tobacco.
I say only one sentence.
Only the two of us understand it.
I say: Go to hell
in this blessed spring.
Ah, if you knew how good spring once was.
Chalk-white branches were long lines of verse,
chalk-white against blue.
By day and by night my mighty
heart stood, burning with joy,
its door flung wide to every
shift of light
and every small sound.
I am thoroughly drunk and understand nothing—
and yet I remember everything.
I betray a spring, for spring’s meaning
has collapsed within me.
I assert my will: This one spring must
be emptied like bottles and shattered into shards.
I deliver my mountain sermon here.
And only we two understand it.
speaking a strange kind of drunken nonsense.
I insist on preaching the art
of proclamation
to an audience of beer and tobacco.
I say only one sentence.
Only the two of us understand it.
I say: Go to hell
in this blessed spring.
Ah, if you knew how good spring once was.
Chalk-white branches were long lines of verse,
chalk-white against blue.
By day and by night my mighty
heart stood, burning with joy,
its door flung wide to every
shift of light
and every small sound.
I am thoroughly drunk and understand nothing—
and yet I remember everything.
I betray a spring, for spring’s meaning
has collapsed within me.
I assert my will: This one spring must
be emptied like bottles and shattered into shards.
I deliver my mountain sermon here.
And only we two understand it.
translated from the Danish by Sheema Kalbasi
