Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Torgeir Rebolledo Pedersen

ELEGY

Life’s a trap
At 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

ELEGI

ELEGI

Livet er en felle
I 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
Close

ELEGY

Life’s a trap
At 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

ELEGY

Life’s a trap
At 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
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère