Oktober er den perfekte måned for nostalgiske og dystre tanker.
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October is Autumn. The days are getting shorter. It is not yet dark when we rise, but soon it will be. MotherOwl still walks with the Owlets to the bus stop most mornings, but fewer pictures are taken.
October is a month made for nostalgia and dark thoughts.
Hvert år, når bladenen falder af træerne, kører "Løvfald" også kendt som "Kirsten og vejen fra Gurre" i Uglemors hoved når de mange brogede blade driver hen ad vejen.
Every October, when the leaves fall from the trees, and lie in the roads, MotherOwl hears a song in her head all the time, or rather mostly just one line from the poem.
|... I vejens våde, blanke asfalt-å ... |
... in the wet, glistening asphalt river ...
Kirsten og vejen fra Gurre. Kirsten and the road from Gurre*
Det løvfald som vi kom så altfor nær The autumn that came close to us, too close.
bedrog os med de ting vi havde kær: Has cheated us with what we loved most.
Den strenge hvide sol, en sløret regn The white and glaring Sun, the mellow rain
Et gult forundringssmil i Nyrup* Hegn. A yellow smile of wonder in the lane.
Hvor kom vi alt for nær på alle ting We came too close to every earthly thing
Det løvfald lod os se en sjælden ring The autumn let us see a eerie ring.
Der stod en hest med samme hvide hår A horse's mane had hairs as white as snow,
som vore arme unger engang får. Thus will our poor kids look when they are grown
Din lille, varme hånd sad fast i min, Your hand in mine was nested, small and warm,
og der kom blæsten rendende med sin. And with outstretched arms arrived the storm
I vejens våde, blanke asfalt-å The wet and shiny river of our street
drev mange flere blade, end vi så. Had more leaves drifting than we'll ever meet.
Esbønderup*, Det hvide hospital A white and sprawling ward lies in the grove,
En fjern og ukendt hanes søndagsgal And far away a rooster starts to crow.
Dit blik fik gule marker med sig hjem Your eyes have feasted on the yellow grain
Nu ejer du en længsel efter dem. A longing for them always will remain.
Frank Jæger, 1948
* Gurre is now an insignificant village 42 kilometres north of Copenhagen. In the Middle ages some of the Dsnish kings lived there part time. Valdemar IV Atterdag ("mañana") is famous for saying: "Let God keep His Paradise, as long as I have my Gurre".
It seems this poem describes a journey from Elsinore, (where Frank Jæger was to live later in his life), over Nyrup, Gurre and Esbønderup to somewhere further on, and - mostly - it's metaphysical impact on the young poet.
Elsinore is also the town, where MotherOwl grew up and met Frank Jæger long ago. He died in 1977.