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(based on the poem "Tragediens Trone" by John Henrik Svaren) |
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(is translated by the undersigned, and hereby dedicated to Kristoffer Garm Rygg) |
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Hear! |
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From this day forth |
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are the heights of Horeb broken |
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and the sea of sulphur-ice. |
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And blasphemy! |
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in heaven's chambers: |
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Souls had fled their halls |
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and closed was the book of life. |
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And behold! |
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The great, white throne: |
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black |
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with sacred blood |
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Our father - |
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Dead by his own hands: |
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an epitaph |
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worthy no king. |
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And so is everything |
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a nameless lie. |
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Who, my god, |
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am I? |
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Man knows me |
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as Lucifer, the serpent of old. |
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The wretched hold my banner high. |
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Your gift |
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- all life! - |
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I grant a grave |
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Yet I am not your death. |
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Come carry forth the crown |
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to your once held throne. |
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Here is where my suffering should cease |
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- but alas; I am crowned |
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in grief unheard of! |
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In this lone monarchy |
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- without a friend of foe - |
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I greet the mourning sun |
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with strife and a song: |
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Please speak my name! |
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And leave me not |
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in the dust of death. |
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I am weighed down |
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beneath the tragedy crown, - |
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nameless, |
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and alone, |
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a fatherless son. |
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(JHS 1996) |
