Nordahl Grieg - Kringsatt af fiender

Til Ungdommen








Kringsatt av fiender, gå
inn i din tid!
Under en blodig storm –
vi deg til strid!

 Kanskje du spør i angst,
udekket, åpen:
hva skal jeg kjempe med,
hva er mitt våpen?

Her er ditt vern mot vold,
her er ditt sverd:
troen på livet vårt,
menneskets verd.

For all vår fremtids skyld,
søk det og dyrk det,
dø om du må – men:
øk det og styrk det!

Stilt går granatenes
glidende bånd.
Stans deres drift mot død,
stans dem med ånd!

Krig er forakt for liv.
Fred er å skape.
Kast dine krefter inn:
døden skal tape!

Elsk – og berik med drøm –
alt stort som var!
Gå mot det ukjente,
fravrist det svar.

Ubygde kraftverker,
ukjente stjerner –
skap dem, med skånet livs
dristige hjerner!

Edelt er mennesket,
jorden er rik!
Finnes her nød og sult,
skyldes det svik.

Knus det! I livets navn
skal urett falle.
Solskinn og brød og ånd
eies av alle.

Da synker våpnene
maktesløs ned!
Skaper vi menneskeverd,
skaper vi fred.

Den som med høyre arm
bærer en byrde,
dyr og umistelig,
kan ikke myrde.

Dette er løftet vårt
fra bror til bror:
vi vil bli gode mot
menskenes^[b] jord.

Vi vil ta vare på
skjønnheten, varmen –
som om vi bar et barn
varsomt på armen!

Nordahl Grieg 1936

A Red, Red Rose - Robert Burns

"Louise Odier", photo gb.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

O my Luve is like a red, red rose

   That’s newly sprung in June;

O my Luve is like the melody

   That’s sweetly played in tune.

So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

   So deep in luve am I;

And I will luve thee still, my dear,

   Till a’ the seas gang dry.

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,

   And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;

I will love thee still, my dear,

   While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve!

   And fare thee weel awhile!

And I will come again, my luve,

   Though it were ten thousand mile.

 

 

 

 Robert Burns 1759-1796

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Valentine - Edgar Allan Poe

photo Sloe/ gb

For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,
Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda,
Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies
Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.
Search narrowly the lines!- they hold a treasure
Divine- a talisman- an amulet
That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure-
The words- the syllables! Do not forget
The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor
And yet there is in this no Gordian knot
Which one might not undo without a sabre,
If one could merely comprehend the plot.
Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering
Eyes scintillating soul, there lie perdus
Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing
Of poets, by poets- as the name is a poet's, too,
Its letters, although naturally lying
Like the knight Pinto- Mendez Ferdinando-
Still form a synonym for Truth- Cease trying!
You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do.



Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849) 

                                                                                                                                        

Poul Henningsen - Man binder os på mund og hånd.....

Poul Henningsen  


( A song PH wrote May 1940 which became a symbol of Freedom and Freedom of  Speech for the Danes during WWII)

Gribe efter blanke ting
vil hvert et grådigt lille barn
Binde andre med en ring
gør man som helbefar'n
Tænk, hvor har man stået tit
og delt et vindu's paradis
Helle, helle, det er mit!
Og livet går på samme vis
Man binder os på mund og hånd
med vanens tusind stramme bånd
og det er besværligt at flagre sig fri
Vi leger skjul hos en som ved
at skærme os mod ensomhed
med søde kontrakter vi luller os i
Kunne vi forbyde de tre ord: jeg lover dig
var vi vist i kærlighed på mere ærlig vej
De ord vi svor med hånd og mund
de gælder kun den korte stund
til glæden er borte og alting forbi

Kærlighed og ægteskab
hva' kommer de hinanden ved ?
Kedsomhedens tomme gab
til kæben går af led
Elskov er den vilde blomst
i gartner hænder går den ud
Skærmet får den sin bekomst
men blomstrer hedt i storm og slud
Man binder os på mund og hånd,
med vanens tusind stramme bånd,
men ingen kan ejes. Vi flagrer os fri
I alle kærtegn er en flugt,
de røde sansers vilde flugt
fra pligternes travle fortrampede sti
Du må ikke eje mig, jeg ejer ikke dig
Alle mine kys er ikke ja og ikke nej
De ord vi svor med hånd og mund
de gælder kun den svimle stund
det netop er kysset fra dig jeg ka' li'


Møde hvad der venter os
og ingen ve' hvordan det går
Bære skæbnen uden trods
hvad der så forestår
Glad ved hver en venlighed
men uden tro, at det bli'r ved
Søge fred, idet vi ved,
at vi har ingen krav på fred
Man binder os på mund og hånd
Men man ka' ikke binde ånd
og ingen er fangne, når tanken er fri
Vi har en indre fæstning her
som styrkes i sit eget værd
når bare vi kæmper for det, vi ka' li'
Den som holder sjælen rank, kan aldrig blive træl
Ingen kan regere det, som vi bestemmer sel'
Det lover vi med hånd og mund
i mørket før en morgenstund
at drømmen om frihed bli'r aldrig forbi.

Poul Henningsen (1894-1967) 

Visen, der har melodi af Kai Normann Andersen, indgik i revykommedien "Dyveke" 31. maj 1940.

As a memory of the victims at Charlie Hebdo in Paris in January 2015.

Ytringsfrihed (Freedom of Speech)

Alle borgere kan udtrykke det, de vil. Man kan sige, skrive eller på anden måde udtrykke sine tanker offentligt. Men samtidig må man også tage ansvaret for det, man siger eller skriver. Lovgivningen sætter nemlig nogle grænser for, hvad man kan tillade sig at sige eller skrive offentligt. Hvis man f.eks. er meget grov og fornærmer et andet menneske offentligt, kan man risikere at blive stævnet i en såkaldt injuriesag. Og hvis man f.eks. skriver noget, der truer landets sikkerhed, kan man blive tiltalt ved domstolene og idømt straf. Indimellem ser man artikler og indlæg i aviser eller blade, som optræder uden navn. I de tilfælde er det den ansvarshavende redaktør, som har ansvaret for det, der står. Derfor skal navnet på den ansvarshavende redaktør altid stå i bladet. Det samme skal bladets trykkested. Selv om grundloven garanterer ytringsfrihed for alle, kan den i nogle situationer begrænses. Det gælder f.eks. for folk i fængsel. Myndighederne har lov til at indskrænke indsattes ytringsfrihed, hvis det er nødvendigt for sikkerhed og orden. Forsvaret har også lov til at indskrænke soldaternes ytringsfrihed, hvis det sker af hensyn til orden og disciplin. I princippet gælder ytringsfriheden naturligvis også offentligt ansatte. Men samtidig er f.eks. sagsbehandleren på et socialkontor underlagt tavshedspligt. Tavshedspligten betyder bl.a., at sagsbehandleren ikke må udtale sig om en række personoplysninger, han eller hun har fået gennem sit arbejde.

Kilde: Folketinget. 

John Keats - To Autumn

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
   Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
   With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
   And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
      To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
   With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
      For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
   Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
   Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
   Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
      Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
   Steady thy laden head across a brook;
   Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
      Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
   Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
   And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
   Among the river sallows, borne aloft
      Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
   Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
   The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
      And gathering swallows twitter in the skies




John Keats ( 1795-1821)



photo Moesgaard Forest, November: grethe bachmann

The Dragonfly - Matsuo Basho

The dragonfly
can't quite land
on that blade of grass.







Matsuo Basho (1644-1694) 






photo:grethe bachmann

Jim Morrison - The Celebration Of The Lizard

 

 

 

 

Lions in the street and roaming
Dogs in heat, rabid, foaming
A beast caged in the heart of a city

The body of his mother
Rotting in the summer ground.
He fled the town.

He went down South
And crossed the border
Left the chaos & disorder
Back there
Over his shoulder.

One morning he awoke in a green hotel
W/a strange creature groaning beside him.
Sweat oozed from its shiny skin.

Is everybody in? (3)
The ceremony is about to begin.

Wake up!
You can't remember where it was.
Had this dream stopped?
The snake was pale gold glazed & shrunken.
We were afraid to touch it.
The sheets were hot dead prisons.
And she was beside me, old,
She's, no; young.
Her dark red hair.
The white soft skin.
Now, run to the mirror in the bathroom,
Look!
She's coming in here.
I can't live thru each slow century
of her moving.
I let my cheek slide down
The cool smooth tile
Feel the good cold stinging blood.
The smooth hissing snakes
of rain…
~~~

Once I had a little game
I liked to crawl back in my brain
I think you know the game I mean
I mean the game called "Go Insane"

Now you should try this little game
Just close your eyes forget your name
forget the world, forget the people
and we'll erect a different steeple.

This little game is fun to do.
Just close your eyes, no way to lose
And I'm right here, I'm going too
Release control, we're breaking through
~~~

Way back deep into the brain
Way back past the realm of pain
Back where there's never any rain

And the rain falls gently on the town
And over the heads of all of us

And in the labyrinth of streams beneath
Quiet unearthly presence of
Nervous hill dwellers in the gentle hills around
Reptiles abounding
Fossils, caves, cool air heights

Each house repeats a mold
Windows rolled
A beast car locked in against morning
All now sleeping
Rugs silent, mirrors vacant
Dust blind under the beds of lawful couples
Wound in sheets
And daughters, smug with semen
Eyes in their nipples

Wait! There's been a slaughter here

Don't stop to speak or look around
Your gloves and fan are on the ground
We're getting out of town
We're going on the run
And you're the one I want to come!
~~~

Not to touch the earth, not to see the sun
Nothing left to do but run, run, run
Let's run, let's run

House upon the hill, moon is lying still
Shadows of the trees witnessing the wild breeze
Come on, baby, run with me
Let's run

Run with me, run with me, run with me
Let's run

The mansion is warm at the top of the hill
Rich are the rooms and the comforts there
Red are the arms of luxuriant chairs
And you won't know a thing till you get inside

Dead president's corpse in the driver's car
The engine runs on glue and tar
Come on along, not going very far
To the east to meet the Czar

Run with me, run with me, run with me
Let's run

Some outlaws live by the side of a lake
The minister's daughter's in love with the snake
Who lives in a well by the side of the road
Wake up, girl! We're almost home

Sun, sun, sun
Burn, burn, burn
Moon, moon, moon
I will get you soon…soon…soon!

I am the Lizard King
I can do anything
~~~

We came down the rivers and highways
We came down from forests and falls
We came down from Carson and Springfield
We came down from Phoenix enthralled

And I can tell you the names of the kingdom
I can tell you the things that you know
Listening for a fistful of silence
Climbing valleys into the shade
~~~

For seven years I dwelt in the loose palace of exile
Playing strange games with the girls of the island
Now I have come again to the land of the fair
And the strong and the wise

Brothers and sisters of the pale forest
Children of night
Who among you will run with the hunt?

Now night arrives with her purple legion
Retire now to your tents and to your dreams
Tomorrow we enter the town of my birth
I want to be ready


James Douglas Morrison  (1943-1971)