Poetry Monday :: Bamboo - More Light & Candlemass Digt, men ikke om bambus, mere lys og Kyndelmisse

Today is Candlemass. I know today's theme is Bamboo, but back in December 2024, I translated this poem by Frank Jæger, and stated that I might reuse this poem at a later date.
Today is this later date. It's crisp, clear and bitterly cold. The temperature is -4 C according to the thermometre, but the wind chill factor makes it more like -15.
And as to Frank Jæger ... yes you've heard of him before on this blog, he was MotherOwl's favourite poet as a young inhabitant of Elsinore, where he lived as well.

He wrote this poem about enduring winter - it is meant for and written about February, where all the accumulated summer-energy (the fires of our heart) is spent, but there's still a long time yet until sunshine and warmer days in April. February 2nd, Candlemass, is known as Midwinter-day in Denmark. Today, according to old farmers' wisdom we're halfway through winter; not that winter will continue for that long, but half of the feed for the livestock should still be in stock today. That's how long still left until the cows and horses can be sent grazing  on the new grass.

Today we have 1¾ hours more of sunligth. Just wonderful. I can feel my energy levels rising, but the cold winds keep us mostly inside. Being outside makes you cold, clumsy and stupid.

Let's have that poem!

 -- 🌬 ❅ ❄  --

I dag er det Kyndelmisse. Jeg ved, at dagens tema er bambus, men tilbage i december 2024 oversatte jeg et digt af Frank Jæger og sagde, at jeg måske ville genbruge det på et senere tidspunkt.
    I dag er det et senere tidspunkt. Det er klart, koldt og bidende koldt. Termometeret siger  -4 °C, men blæsten gør, at det føles mere som -15 °C.
    Og Frank Jæger ... jo, jeg har talt om ham før, han var Uglemors yndlingsdigter, da hun var ung og boede i Helsingør, hvor han også boede.

Han skrev dette digt om at udholde vinteren – det er skrevet til og om februar, hvor al den akkumulerede sommerenergi (vores hjertebål) er brugt op, men der stadig er lang tid til solskin og varmere dage i april.
    Den 2. februar, Kyndelmisse, er kendt som midvinterdag i Danmark. I dag er vi ifølge gammel bondevisdom halvvejs gennem vinteren; ikke at vinteren vil vare så længe, men man skal have halvdelen af vinterfoderet til husdyrene tilbage i dag. Så længe varer det nemlig endnu, før køer og heste kan komme på græs igen.

I dag har vi 1¾ time mere sollys. Det er bare skønt. Jeg kan mærke, at min energi vender tilbage, men den kolde vind holder os mest indenfor. At være udenfor gør én kold, klodset og dum.

Lad os så få det digt!

Liden sol i disse uger. Februar har gjort os mindre. Sne som tynger. Is som knuger. Vi kan ingenting forhindre.	Smallish sun in weeks of winter. February made us lessen. Sleet is weighing. Darkness brooding. Nothing we can do about it
Vi kan heller ikke bede om at måtte blive større. Stær og mus og vinterhvede må på vore vegne spørge.	And we cannot ask for mercy, ask for growth in time of winter. Bird and mouse and seed in hiding have to ask this favour for us.
Men måske april vil hente vore hjertebål tilbage. Sammen vil vi tålsomt vente, liden sol i disse dage.	In April maybe the fires of our hearts will be returning. Patiently we wait together. Smallish sun in days of winter
Frank Jæger, 1953	MotherOwl, December 2024

- - - - - -  - Coming Themes  - - - - - - - -

taken from the 365 Days of Drawing Prompts and other Arts group.

Feb 9 Carousel
Feb 16 Plants with Berries
Feb 23 Doughnut
Mar 2 Breakfast in Bed
Mar 9 Meeting a Friend
Mar 16 Obsidian
Mar 23 Croissant
Mar 30 The Moon Tonight

Poetry Monday :: Big City :: in German and no Cities ~ Updated with more verses

    Mandagsdigtet er en blogleg, som Mimi fra Messymimi's Meanderings og jeg har overtaget - midlertidigt håber vi - fra Diane, der slapper af og rejser verden rundt med sin mand. Vi håber hun er parat til at tage over igen, når hun kommer hjem.
     Stikordene kommer fremover fra 365 Days of Drawing Prompts and other Arts. Det er en Facebook-gruppe, der udgiver et stikord til hver dag i året, men bare rolig, stikordene vil stadig være at finde både her og på Mimis blog.

Dagens stikord er: Storby! Men eftersom jeg vågnede op i morges med et fuldt færdigt tysk digt! i hovedet, er jeg er alvorligt bange for at der ikke kommer et digt på dansk i dag. Nok ikke engang et engelsk.

- A - - B - - C -

Mimi of Messymimi's Meanderings and I have taken over the hosting duties, mostly the supplying of the prompts - only temporarily we hope - while Diane at On the Border is taking a break for health and relaxation, travelling the world with her husband as far as we can tell.
 
We just hope she's going to take back over once she returns home.

The prompts now come from 365 Days of Drawing Prompts and other Arts group. This is a Facebook group with a prompt for each day of the year, but no worries, the prompts will still be here and at Mimi's blog.

  I have something more to ask of you: If you read this and the poetry of others via the links, would you please leave a comment.
  Half - if not more - the fun of these challenges is receiving the responses of others.

Today's subject is Big City!

- A - - B - - C -

Today is Poetry Monday, the theme is Big City, but as I woke up this morning, a poem in German! was in my head. But why?


Nächtliche Konversation:
A - Ist bald der dunkle Nacht vorbei?
B - Die Uhr zeigt immer noch nur Zwei
    - Leg du dich hin, schlaf ruhig ein
    - Und wacht im Morgensonnenschein.

A - Und was ist's jetzt
B - Dreiviertel sechs
    - bald kommt das Morgengrauen
    - Schließ du bloß deine Augen

A - Jetzt scheint die helle Sonne rein
B  - Jetzt darfst du wach und munter sein
A - Oh weia! ich bin müde du
    - ich mache meine Augen zu.
 

English literal translation:

Nightly Comversation
A - Will this dark night soon have an end?
B - the clock says only two
Lay yourself down and go to sleep
And wake in morning sunshine.

A - Now what's the time?
B - A quarter to six
    - Soon will the morning break
    - now you go back to sleep

A - And now the sun is shining brigth
B - You may get up now, time is right
A - Oh dear, I am so tired now,
    - an hour more will sit just right.


Dansk oversættelse:

Natlig samtale
A- Er den mørke nat snart slut?
B - Klokken er stadig kun to
Læg du dig ned og sov igen
Og vågn i morgensolskinnet.

A - Og nu, hvad er klokken nu?
B - Et kvarter i seks
    - Snart gryer dagens grå min ven
    - så luk du øjenene igen

A - Åh se, nu skinner solne klart
B - Nu står vi op, er det ikke rart?
A - Men jeg er træt, jeg ikke vil.
    - jeg sover lige en time til.

 - - - - - -  - Coming Themes  - - - - - - - -

Sep 15 Tea fusing
Sep 22 Kitchen
Sep 29 Snuggles
Oct 5 Wood
Oct 12 Life
Oct 19 Train
Oct 26 Make believe occupation

Halfdan Rasmussen 110 år 🎂

Dette indlæg udgav så sig selv den 6. oktober ... mere end ½ år siden jeg skrev den - Bloggers veje er uransagelige. Det har nu fået den rigtige dato på igen.

I dag er det Halfdan Rasmussens 110 års fødselsdag. Lige som sidste år bringer Uglemor et af de otte børnerim, der er blevet bortcensurerede i den nyeste udgave af hans samlede værker. Jeg vil gentage dette på de næste fødselsdage hvis jeg lever så længe.
     Denne censur gør mig ondt, dels fordi de ord, han brugte, dengang var neutrale ord for folk og folkeslag og det derfor burde være muligt at bringe dem - eventuelt med fodnoter eller et forklarende forord. Dels fordi slags amerikanske tilstande med fornærmelses-parathed og følsomheds-censur på andres vegne ikke burde forekomme - og da slet ikke ramme Halfdan Rasmussen, der faktisk var en stor og modig forkæmper for folk, frihed og menneskerettigheder og imod censur. Hans vers om Bødlen for eksempel burde være tvungen læsning for alle mennesker i hele verden.
     Og i det tilfælde att du ikke læser kommentarerne, vil jeg lige gengive Elephant's Child's kloge kommentar: "Clothes and people's expectations frequently do chafe. And itch." (tøj og folks forventninger generer ofte - og klør.)

-- 🎂 --

This post was stuck somewhere until October 6th. I have now corrected the date - Strange things happen with Blogger.  

Today is the 110th birthday of Halfdan Rasmussen. Maybe one of the greatest Danish contemporary poets. MotherOwl holds him in high esteem, and on the occasion of his birthday I will, like at his other birthdays, publish one of the eight rhymes for children that was censored from the latest collection - and will continue to do so for his next birthdays until I run out of poems, and if I live long enough.
  This censorship grieves me as Halfdan Rasmussen is truly a great fighter for freedom and equality, his pen wrote the Danish verse that was turned into Each Small Candle.
  The words he used, were the at that time neutral demonyms, and the verses should be included, maybe with a footnote or a preamble.

I wrote that I did not want to make an English versification of the poems, as my less than perfect English poetry would make the verses rather pedestrian.  I mourn the fact that I'm not a poetic genius able to render them full justice. His equilibristic verses are serious even at their most playful, and never serious without at least a touch of humour.
  But after seeing what Google translate did to those verses, I am supplying a translation - word for word, or rather meaning for meaning with no pretension of any versification.
  And just in case you can not remember ;) I want to add Elephant's Child's wise comment here: "Clothes and people's expectations frequently do chafe. And itch."

-- 🎂 --

En liste over alle de bortcensurerede vers og hvor de er udgivet.

All the censored verses and from where they come.

1. Lille negerdukke (Børnerim) (2020)
   
2. To små negerdukker (Børnerim) (2021)
   
3. Hittehattehættehuer (Børnerim)
4. Rikke (Børnerim)
5. Negerdukken lille Sam (Børnerim)
6. Sikken et hus (Børnerim)
7. Nogle øjne er så smukke (Halfdans rim)
8. Alle bilerne fra landet (Halfdans rim)

Rikke
Min mor er glad,                My mother is happy.
min far er rar,                     My father is nice
min søster hedder Rikke.   And my sister is called Rikke
Hun tar et bad i januar,      She takes a bath in January
men bader ellers ikke.        but else she is not bathing.
Når hun er ren                    When she's clean,
og smuk og pæn,                 and beautiful and nice.
så går hun ud og leger.       she runs out to play.
Og klokken fem                 When at five
går Rikke hjem                   Rikke goes home
som negerskorstensfejer!   she's as black as a negro chimneysweep.

Poetry Monday :: A Bumpy Ride

The first thing to enter MotherOwl's brains was "Jingle Bells". Luckily this earworm was shaken - you're welcome to it! - By now every reader of this blog probably know by now that MotherOwl finds living through the winter to be A Bumpy Ride. She is not alone.

This poem was originally written by Frank Jæger - yes you've heard of him before on this blog, he was MotherOwl's favourite poet as a young inhabitant of Elsinore, where he lived as well.

He wrote this poem about enduring winter - it is meant for and written about February, where all the accumulated summer-energy (the fires of our heart) is spent, but there's still a long time yet until sunshine and warmer days in April. February 2nd, Candlemass, is known as Midwinter-day in Denmark.

I might reuse this poem at a later date.

Liden sol i disse uger. Februar har gjort os mindre. Sne som tynger. Is som knuger. Vi kan ingenting forhindre.	Smallish sun in weeks of winter. February made us lessen. Sleet is weighing, darkness brooding ... Nothing we can do about it
Vi kan heller ikke bede om at måtte blive større. Stær og mus og vinterhvede må på vore vegne spørge.	And we cannot ask for mercy, ask for growth in time of winter. Bird and mouse and seed in hiding have to ask this favour for us.
Men måske april vil hente vore hjertebål tilbage. Sammen vil vi tålsomt vente, liden sol i disse dage.	In April maybe the fires of our hearts will be returning. Patiently we wait together. Smallish sun in days of winter
Frank Jæger, 1953	MotherOwl, December 2024

- - - - - -

Coming prompts:
December 16: Recipe for Disaster
December 23: Never Say Never and/or Christmas/Hanukkah
December 30: All Done

Poetry Monday :: Cry Wolf

Den danske udgave blev udgivet otte minutter tidligere end denne, så gå til forrige indlæg nedenunder, hvis du vil have den.

To cry wolf is almost the same in Danish, we cry: The wolf is coming!
But the English one is once again subject for misinterpretations, we only need a comma: Cry, Wolf!

Cry, wolf! Tonight the moon is full.
You'll be hunted by werewolves
and werebears and -boars.

  And then I was reminded of  Vargsången (The Wolf Song) written by Astrid Lindgren for the movie vesion of  Ronia, the Robber's Daughter. It is a lullaby, sung by Ronia's mother - I always thought it was a bit violent for a lullaby, but then they are a band of robbers.
  I never saw the movie, but I have read the book more than once, and heard the song in the radio several times. I have not been able to find an English version, so I tried rendering it into English with it still being able to be sung on its original, haunting tune. You will be the judges as to whether I succeeded. 

The wolf is howling in nightly woods,
he wants to but can't be sleeping.
Hunger tears in his wolven paunch,
and cold it is in his keeping.
    Cry, wolf! cry, wolf, don't you come here,
    I'll never give you my young one.

The wolf is howling in nightly woods,
howls with hunger and anguish.
But I'll give him a piggie's tail,
It's fit for a wolfy stomach.
    Cry, wolf! cry, wolf, don't you come here,
    I'll never give you my young one.

The wolf is howling in nightly woods,
and finds no prey in his hunting.
But I'll give him a cock's comb
To put in his sorry bundle.
    Cry, wolf! cry, wolf, don't you come here,
    I'll never give you my young one.

Sleep, my child, in your mother's bed,
The wolf is howling, just let him.
But I'll give him a chicken shank,
That is if it has not been taken.
    Cry, wolf! cry, wolf, don't you come here,
    I'll never give you my young one.


Vargsången
Vargen ylar i nattens skog,
han vill men kan inte sova.
Hungern river hans vargabuk,
och det är kallt i hans stova.
    Du varg, du varg, kom inte hit,
    ungen min får du aldrig.

Vargen ylar i nattens skog,
ylar av hunger och klagan.
Men jag ska ge'n en grisasvans,
sånt passar i vargamagar.
    Du varg, du varg, kom inte hit,
    ungen min får du aldrig.

Vargen ylar i nattens skog,
och hittar sig inget byte.
Men jag ska ge'n en tuppakam,
att stoppa ner i sitt knyte.
    Du varg, du varg, kom inte hit,
    ungen min får du aldrig.

Sov, mitt barn, i bädden hos mor,
låt vargen yla i natten.
Men jag ska ge'n en hönsaskank,
om ingen annan har tatt 'en.
    Du varg, du varg, kom inte hit,
    ungen min får du aldrig.
Astrid Lindgren

Youtube video of Vargsången  the title says Astrid's Lullabies.

 - - - - - -

Topics for December:

Dec. 2 Beans
Dec. 9 A Bumpy Ride
Dec. 16 Recipe for Disaster
Dec. 23 Never Say Never and/or Christmas/Hanukkah
Dec. 30 All Done

Ulvesangen ~ Poetry Monday på dansk

If you only read English, please wait a bit, the English version will publish soon.

Om kort tid kommer dagens Poetry Monday, som er en engelsk gendigtning af Vargsången fra Ronja Røverdatter. Jeg troede jeg havde udgivet min oversættelse af Astrid Lindgrens vuggevise her på bloggen, men lige megt, hvor meget jeg leder, er den her ikke. Så for ikke at gøre Poetry Monday-opslaget alt for langt, kommer den danske udgave her lige inden.
     Det har altid undret mig at Ulvesangen blev kaldt en vuggevise, men måske er forklaringen den enkle, at det er en vuggevise for røvere, og røvere skal hærdes fra små.
     Vi får den først på svensk og så på dansk.

Vargsången
Vargen ylar i nattens skog,
han vill men kan inte sova.
Hungern river hans vargabuk,
och det är kallt i hans stova.
    Du varg, du varg, kom inte hit,
    ungen min får du aldrig.

Vargen ylar i nattens skog,
ylar av hunger och klagan.
Men jag ska ge'n en grisasvans,
sånt passar i vargamagar.
    Du varg, du varg, kom inte hit,
    ungen min får du aldrig.

Vargen ylar i nattens skog,
och hittar sig inget byte.
Men jag ska ge'n en tuppakam,
att stoppa ner i sitt knyte.
    Du varg, du varg, kom inte hit,
    ungen min får du aldrig.

Sov, mitt barn, i bädden hos mor,
låt vargen yla i natten.
Men jag ska ge'n en hönsaskank,
om ingen annan har tatt 'en.
    Du varg, du varg, kom inte hit,
    ungen min får du aldrig.
Vargsången skrevs av Astrid Lindgren till filmen Ronja Rövardotter som kom 1984


Ulvesangen
Ulven hyler i natmørk skov
Han vil, men kan ikke sove
Sulten river i ulvetarm,
det er koldt nattens skove.
  Du ulv, du ulv kom ikke her
  Ungen min får du aldrig

Ulven hyler i natmørk skov
Hyler så sulten og mager
men jeg vil gi ham en grisetå
det passer i ulvemaver.
  Du ulv, du ulv kom ikke her
  Ungen min får du aldrig

Ulven hyler i natmørk skov
han finder intet bytte.
Men jeg vil gi ham en hanekam
at æde i sin hytte.
  Du ulv, du ulv kom ikke her
  Ungen min får du aldrig

Sov mit barn i moders seng
Lad ulven hyle i natten
Men jeg vil gi han et hønseskank,
hvis ingen anden vil ha' den.
  Du ulv, du ulv kom blot ikke her
  Ungen min får du aldrig

Efterårsregn ~ Autumn Rain ~ Deszcz jesienny

Vejret i dag fik mig til at tænke på endnu et digt fra min studietid, Deszcz jesienny af Leopold Staff     Det er et meget billedskabende vers, hvor man i rytmen og ordene hører regnen slå mod ruderne.
     Og det er kun enmeget lille bid af et meget langt digt.
      Først på polsk - prøv at læse det bare for lydene - og så på engelsk og dansk. Jeg regner ikke mig selv for at være på niveau med Leopold Staff eller nogle af de andre poeter fra Młoda Polska, jeg gør mit bedste, men det er bare så meget bedre på polsk.

~ 💧 ~

The weather today made me think of another poem from my student days, Deszcz jesienny by Leopold Staff. It's a very evocative verse where you through the rhythm and the words hear the rain hitting the windows.

And it's only a small part of a very long poem.

First in Polish - try to read it just for the sounds - and then in English and Danish. I don't consider myself to be on the level of Leopold Staff or any of the other Młoda Polska poets, I do my best, but it's just so much better in Polish.

~ 💧 ~

O szyby deszcz dzwoni, deszcz dzwoni jesienny
I pluszcze jednaki, miarowy, niezmienny,
Dżdżu krople padają i tłuką w me okno...
Jęk szklany... płacz szklany... a szyby w mgle mokną
I światła szarego blask sączy się senny...
O szyby deszcz dzwoni, deszcz dzwoni jesienny...

~ 💧 ~

Rain rings against the windows, the autumn rain rings,
And splashes forever, unending, unchanging,
Raindrops fall and splash on my window ...
Glass moaning ... glass crying ...the windows wet with mist
And the grey light seeping drowsily through ...
Rain rings against the windows, the autumn rain rings ...

~ 💧 ~

Regnen rinder ad ruden, efterårsregnen rinder,
og plasker bestandigt, uforandret, uophørligt,
Dråber dunker mod ruden og smadres og løber ...
Glasset stønner ... glasset græder ... vinduerne er våde af tåge
Og det grå lys siver døsigt igennem ...
Regnen rinder ad ruden, efterårsregnen rinder ...

~ 💧 ~

A photo of the Autumn rain   ~ 💧 ~  Et foto af efterårsregnen ~ 💧 ~ Zdjęcie deszczu jesiennego

Poetry Monday :: Family

Every Monday is Poetry Monday. Mimi of Messymimi's Meanderings and I have taken over the hosting duties, mostly the supplying of the prompts - only temporarily we hope - while Diane at On the Border is taking a break for health reasons.

  I have something to ask of you: If you read this and the poetry of others via the links, would you please leave a comment.
  Half - if not more - the fun of these challenges is receiving the responses of others.

Today's topic is Family. But no, I'm not going to write a poem about Family in the normal meaning of the word, what about a work-family instead?

This poem needs a long preamble and some explanation ... bear with me.

  --  --  --  --

Saturday I went shopping as almost every day. In Helsinge we have a Polish bakery, and many years ago MotherOwl studied Polish at the University of Copenhagen.

I do not speak Polish any more, much to my frustration, because, bugger it, I still understand almost every word the baker and his customers say whenever they speak Polish. 

... well, back to the story and the poem. Saturday, as I entered the bakery, I smiled broadly, and pulled out my phone - I had forgotten my camera at home, double bugger, as the camera in my pone is lousy beyond measure.

Lousy photo - gets no better

... Anyway, as I shot a picture of the bags that had made me laugh, the baker said: "They contain bread crumbs."

I answered: "Yes, I know."

As the poor baker looked totally confused, I gave him a longish explanation, in Danish, English and a little Polish, the gist of which was:

Many years ago, as I studied Polish, we read a poem about six female cooks. The sixth was sour like a lemon (Danish and Polish both use vinegar here), and always scolded the other five.

I did not remember all the matters she went on about, but the fifth cook had trouble because of bułka tarta - exactly what was written on those bags.

Back in those days when I studied Polish, the internet was not a thing, so, not understanding bułka tarta I grasped my large dictionary:
Bułka was easy enough: It simply means Bun.
But tarta? I found out it was the passive adjectival participle of the imperfective verb "trzeć" (yes I did understand those fancy words - still do) which means "to make into small pieces, grate or shred". Anyhow, I was still mystified, Whatever happened to that poor bun, and why?

Of course I was given this exact sentence to read aloud and translate the next day.

I interpreted this expression as if the bun got pulled into small pieces by cook # 5 and 6. The other students and the teacher laughed at me, and told me that I should have gone for the "grated" meaning, and gone from grated bun to breadcrumbs. Totally obvious - only not to me 🙂

As I told all this to the baker, he laughed as well, and I promised to bring him the poem, which he did not know.

I have published the poem about the six cooks on my blog before (here), but only with a Danish translation. This time I try my luck in English.

Sześć kucharek
Wanda Chotomska

Było sobie sześć kucharek:
Jedna chuda jak sucharek,
jak bułeczka pulchna druga,
trzecia jak makaron długa,
czwarta miała mleczną cerę
i lubiła kluski z serem,
piąta niby pączek tłusta
i jak ocet kwaśna szósta.
Pięć kucharek w mlecznym barze
miało przez nią kwaśne twarze,
bo nic nigdy nie robiła,
tylko ciągle się kłóciła:
z tą najpierwszą o kakao,
co na blachę wykipiało,
a z tą drugą - o talerze
i o każdą dziurkę w serze,
o ryż - z trzecią, o sól - z czwartą,
z piątą zaś - o bułkę tartą...

My best try in English

Once upon a time there were six cooks,
The first one dry, thin as a rusk,
the second one as plump as any bun,
and the third like a spaghetti long.
The fourth one had a milky face,
and ate her food with cheeses mixed.
The fifth was sweet like doughnut glaze,
but sour as vinegar the sixth.
The five cooks in the milk bar old,
because of her had sour looks,
for never did she ever cook,
and always did she brawl and scold.
With the first one over the cocoa,
which was spilled onto the stove,
With the second over the plates
and every hole in all the cheese,
with the third over rice, with the fourth over salt,
With the fifth however over breadcrumbs ...

Not a very brilliant poem, I used my artistic freedom here and there, but I still could not make those last lines to my liking, sorry.

--  --  --  --  --  --

Next Monday for Intention I have every intention of doing better ;)

Halfdan Rasmussen 109 år

I dag er det Halfdan Rasmussens 109 års fødselsdag. Lige som sidste år bringer Uglemor et af de otte børnerim, der er blevet bortcensurerede i den nyeste udgave af hans samlede værker. Jeg vil gentage dette på de næste fødselsdage hvis jeg lever så længe.
     Denne censur gør mig ondt, dels fordi de ord, han brugte, dengang var neutrale ord for folk og folkeslag og det derfor burde være muligt at bringe dem - eventuelt med fodnoter eller et forklarende forord. Dels fordi slags amerikanske tilstande med fornærmelses-parathed og følsomheds-censur på andres vegne ikke burde forekomme - og da slet ikke ramme Halfdan Rasmussen, der faktisk var en stor og modig forkæmper for folk, frihed og menneskerettigheder og imod censur. Hans vers om Bødlen for eksempel burde være tvungen læsning for alle mennesker i hele verden.
     Og i det tilfælde att du ikke læser kommentarerne, vil jeg lige gengive Elephant's Child's kloge kommentar: "Clothes and people's expectations frequently do chafe. And itch." (tøj og folks forventninger generer ofte - og klør.)

-- 🎂 --

  Today is the 109th birthday of Halfdan Rasmussen. Maybe one of the greatest Danish contemporary poets. MotherOwl holds him in high esteem, and on the occasion of his birthday I will, like at his other birthdays, publish one of the eight rhymes for children that was censored from the latest collection - and will continue to do so for his next birthdays, if I live long enough.
  This censorship grieves me as Halfdan Rasmussen is truly a great fighter for freedom and equality, his pen wrote the Danish verse that was turned into Each Small Candle.
  The words he used, were the at that time neutral demonyms, and the verses should be included, maybe with a footnote or a preamble.

I wrote that I did not want to make an English versification of the poems, as my less than perfect English poetry would make the verses rather pedestrian.  I mourn the fact that I'm not a poetic genius able to render them full justice. His equilibristic verses are serious even at their most playful, and never serious without at least a touch of humour.
  But after seeing what Google translate did to those verses, I am supplying a translation - word for word, or rather meaning for meaning with no pretension of any versification.
  And just in case you can not remember ;) I want to add Elephant's Child's wise comment here: "Clothes and people's expectations frequently do chafe. And itch."

-- 🎂 --

En liste over alle de bortcensurerede vers og hvor de er udgivet.

All the censored verses and from where they come.

1. Lille negerdukke (Børnerim) (2020)
   
2. To små negerdukker (Børnerim) (2021)
   
3. Hittehattehættehuer (Børnerim)
4. Rikke (Børnerim)
5. Negerdukken lille Sam (Børnerim)
6. Sikken et hus (Børnerim)
7. Nogle øjne er så smukke (Halfdans rim)
8. Alle bilerne fra landet (Halfdans rim)

Hittehattehættehuer

Min nathue huer mig ikke.
Kalotten ka Lotte jo få.
Kasketten ka skytten
benytte om natten
hvis ikke kadetten
med kutten vil ha den,
og hitter jeg hatten
og hætten i hytten
kan ham hottentotten
og skotten fra Vrå
få hittehathatten
og hyttehætten på!

Af Halfdan Rasmussen

But I do not make an English version. Not because I won't - I'd love to - but because I can't. This is too speedy, funny, punny, and everything for me to even try.
A literal translation (annotated) is not above me, so you'll get this.

Finding hat-hut-hoods.
My nightcap doesn't suit me. (suit - using a word that's also hat-meaning maybe I should have used cap)
Lotte can have the calotte.
The cap for the huntsman (third word for hat ;) )
to use in the night
if the cadet in the cowl
doesn't want it,
and if I find the hat
and the hood in the hut
the Hottentot
and the Scotsman from Vrå
can have the found cap-hat (hidden hood hat is sound-similar to the line in Danish)
and the hut-hood!

Poetry Monday :: Christmas

Long ago we spent a year in Salzgitter, Germany. There it was a tradition that the priest and some of the children from the parish came dressed as the three wise men and sung carols in the Christmas week. Sternsinger they're called in German - Star singers. The house is blessed, and the singers are given cookies, candy and tea or soft drinks, and the priest get some money for the needy (or I guess hand out something if you're the needy one).

I think this is a good tradition, and would very much like to transplant it to Denmark.

We also had a visit, and they sung a song that stayed with me, and that I have tried to translate into Danish. Today I tried my hand at an English translation, please be not too harsh on my humble try.

-- 🌟 --

The song is called
Stern über Betlehem

Stern über Betlehem, zeig uns den Weg
führ uns zur Krippe hin, zeig wo sie steht,
leuchte du uns voran, bis wir dort sind,
Stern über Betlehem, führ uns zum Kind.

Stern über Betlehem, nun bleibst du stehn
und läßt uns alle das Wunder hier sehen,
das da geschehen, was niemand gedacht,
Stern über Betlehem, in dieser Nacht.

Stern über Betlehem, wir sind am Ziel,
denn dieser arme Stall birgt doch so viel!
Du hast uns hergeführt, wir danken dir,
Stern über Betlehem, wir bleiben hier.

Stern über Betlehem, kehren wir zurück,
scheint noch dein helles Licht in unserm Blick,
und was uns froh gemacht, teilen wir aus,
Stern über Betlehem, schein auch zu Haus.

-- 🌟 --

And in Danish
Stjerne fra Betlehem

Stjerne fra Betlehem, vis os nu vej
før os til kongen nu, vi følger dig
lys på vor mørke vej til vi når frem
Stjerne fra Betlehem, før os til Ham.

Stjerne fra Betlehem, standser du her?
Barnet i krybben ser vi i dit skær
Her er et under sket, vi fandt en skat.
Stjerne fra Betlehem, i denne nat.

Stjerne fra Betlehem, vi nåede frem.
Røgelse, guld og sølv bragte vi Ham.
Du ledte os herhen, vi takker dig,
Stjerne fra Betlehem, for lys på vej.

Stjerne fra Betlehem, når vi ta'r væk,
skinner dit stærke lys i vores blik,
og vi fortæller om barnet, vi fandt.
Stjerne fra Betlehem, tag med os hjem!

-- 🌟 --

English translation
Star above Betlehem
Star above Betlehem show us the way
lead us to Betlehem, and not astray.
Shine with your gentle light in our night
Star above Betlehem show us the child.

Star above Betlehem, now here you stay,
And let us all see the child in the hay.
What happen'd in this place? We saw a spark,
Star above Betlehem, deep in the dark.

Star above Betlehem this is our goal
For in this humble place Him we behold
You led us to this place, we thank you star
Star above Betlehem, you led us far.

Star above Betlehem when we go home
still shines your gentle light in our gloom.
What we saw in this place, we have to share
Star above Betlehem stay with us there.

-- 🌟 --

You can listen here in German:

- - - - -

Next Monday: The Future (Diane's last Poetry Monday - for now, we hope!)

Poetry Monday :: Winter

Today's theme for Poetry Monday is Winter. Poetry Monday is a challenge, hosted by Diane at On the Border. But now only for three more Mondays.  Monday, January 1, 2024 is Diane's last time hosting Poetry Monday, as she's taking a break due to health issues. Messymimi and I have a loose plan of keeping the chair warm for her - let's see what happens.

~ ~ ~ ~

     Digtet her er en reprise. Jeg bragte det første gang den 18. januar 2021, og anden gang, hvor jeg sammenlignede med en tidligere dansk oversættelse til vintersolhverv sidste år, men jeg synes nu bedst om min egen oversættelse, så det er hvad jeg bringer i dag. Jeg har lige forbedret et par af linkerne - i det mindste synes jeg, at det er en forbedring.
     Vi har desværre ikke mere sne, der får træer, huse, hegn og mur til at se ud som kager med glasur. Jeg håber, det snart kommer igen, for det er meget bedre for humøret med sne til at lyse op i vintermulmet.

~ ~ ~ ~

This poem has been published once before  January, 18, 2021, and again at Winter solstice last year. This time with an elder, Danish translation. I am brash enough to say that I like mine the best, so that's what you'll get today - I improved two of the lines, at least I found it to be an improvement.

Unfortunately we have no more snow to make tree and house, and hill and lake, look frosted like a wedding-cake. But I hope for the snow to return, as snow to light up our murky days are way better for the soul than rain and low clouds like today.

Winter-Time   Late lies the wintry sun a-bed, A frosty, fiery sleepy-head; Blinks but an hour or two; and then, A blood-red orange, sets again.   Before the stars have left the skies, At morning in the dark I rise; And shivering in my nakedness, By the cold candle, bathe and dress.   Close by the jolly fire I sit To warm my frozen bones a bit; Or with a reindeer-sled, explore The colder countries round the door.   When to go out, my nurse doth wrap Me in my comforter and cap; The cold wind burns my face, and blows Its frosty pepper up my nose.   Black are my steps on silver sod; Thick blows my frosty breath abroad; And tree and house, and hill and lake, Are frosted like a wedding-cake.   by Robert Louis Stevenson 1913

Vinterdag   Først sent står vintersolen op, en gyldenhåret dovenkrop, der skinner et par timer kun for at forsætte så sit blund   Og førend stjernen går sin vej, før morgengryet, vågner jeg Og frysende, på bare tæer klæder jeg mig på ved lampeskær   Jeg varmer mine fingre lidt ved ilden her, som varmer hedt. Så i en rensdyrslæde går det rundt i verden udenfor.   Før jeg går ud, bli'r jeg klædt på får vanter, jakke, hue på. Og vinden svider snart min kind snor sig som rim i næsen ind   Mod sneen hvid står sorte skridt min ånde blæses hid og did. Og træer, huse, hegn og mur ser ud som kager med glasur.   Charlotte Olden-Jørgensen, 2021

 - - - - - -

Upcoming topics:
Cookies (December 18)
Christmas/Hanukkah/Holidays (Dec. 25)
The Future (January 1 Diane's last Poetry Monday)

Sommerfugle Kvinder og spejle :: Poetry Monday :: Butterflies Women and Mirrors

Ja, så er det jo mandag - dagens stikord er Sommerfugle, men selv om det er et emne, jeg faktisk har meget at sige om, så faldt der mig ikke noget digt ind. Til gengæld har jeg fundet denne moralske fortælling - eller hvad vi nu skal kalde det i min computers afkroge , mens jeg ledte efter noget andet.
     Ren serendipity - et af mine yndlingsord, der beskriver det at finde noget andet, men måske bedre, mens man leder efter noget andet.
     Oprindelig er det vist et norsk facebookopslag, jeg oversatte det til dansk og ville lave det om til et digt. Det skete så aldrig; det endte med at blive en slags knækprosa. Hvis jeg havde gjort, som jeg ville, havde jeg skrevet det om, så det var mindre kønsspecifikt, for jeg afskyr normalt den slags kvinderi. Men problemerne i dette digt er altså heller ikke kvinde-specifikke - det kan enhver mor til drenge vist skrive under på.
     Så please, læs dette som et alment-menneskeligt digt om enhver af os.

     Kvinder og spejle.
Når hun er fire, ser hun
en prinsesse
og danser
ud i verden.

Når hun er otte, ser hun
Askepot,
og går ud og håber
på at møde en fe.

Når hun er 15, ser hun
en stedsøster
og har slet ikke lyst
til at gå ud.

Når hun er 20, ser hun
"for tyk/for tynd, for glat/for krøllet"
og beslutter sig for at gå ud alligevel
og prøve at få det bedste ud af det.

Når hun er 30, ser hun
"for tyk/for tynd, for glat/for krøllet",
men har ikke tid til at gøre noget ved det
før hun går ud.

Når hun er 40, ser hun
"for tyk/for tynd, for glat/for krøllet",
men tænker "Jeg er i det mindste ren"
og går ud alligevel.

Når hun er 50, ser hun på sig selv
og siger "Jeg er som jeg er"
og går, hvor hun skal hen.

Når hun er 60, ser hun på sig selv
og husker på alle de mennesker
der ikke længere kan se sig selv i spejlet
og går ud og erobrer verden.

Når hun er 70, ser hun på sig selv
og ser liv, visdom og latter
og går ud og nyder livet.

Når hun er 80, ser hun ikke på sig selv.
Hun tager bare en lilla hat på
og går ud for at nyde verden.

     Morsomt nok er Bloggers emojis for hat en dame- og en herrehat, begge med lilla pynt.

-- 👒 -- 🎩 --

Today is Poetry Monday. The prompt is Butterflies, and although I have a big, soft spot for butterflies and have made my garden into a butterfly paradise for years before it was a thing, that's not what I'm going to talk about today,. Because looking for something, I found an old thing. Pure serendipity - which is one of my favourite words, describing the faculty or phenomenon of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for.

Today's modern poem was a Facebook post from long ago in Norwegian. I translated it, wanting to turn it into a poem. I never got very far, but the moral of the poem is still valid despite its somewhat moralistic ways. I would have changed it, made it less "womanish" - for as you might know I am a warrior (stickler) for human rights, and the quandaries in this poem is not women-specific, just ask any mother of sons. But here it is. Please read it as a poem for all persons of the human race.  

Women and Mirrors.
When we're small we look in the mirror
we twirl, we see a princess.
And we dance out into the world.

We grow older, we see al the faults,
We doubt, we see the step sister.
And we slink out into the dark.

We get married, we look in the mirror,
we glance, we see a mother.
And we hurry out into the day.

We grow older, we look in the mirror
we shudder, we see all wrinkles.
And go shyly out into the world.

And older yet, we look in the mirror
we think, we see those we lost.  
And we hurry out into the world.

We grow older yet. Wiser and bolder
We do not look into the mirror
We put on a purple hat and go out into the world.

And Blogger's emojis for hat were a man's and a woman's hat - both with purple dressings.

- - - - -

Next Monday's topic: Buzzards

Halfdan Rasmussen 108 years.

I dag er det Halfdan Rasmussens 108 års fødselsdag. Lige som på hans 105 og 106 og 106½  års fødselsdag bringer Uglemor et af de otte børnerim, der er blevet bortcensurerede i den nyeste udgave af hans samlede værker. Jeg vil gentage dette på de næste fødselsdage hvis jeg lever så længe.
     Denne censur gør mig ondt, dels fordi de ord, han brugte, dengang var neutrale ord for folk og folkeslag og det derfor burde være muligt at bringe dem - eventuelt med fodnoter eller et forklarende forord. Dels fordi slags amerikanske tilstande med fornærmelses-parathed og følsomheds-censur på andres vegne ikke burde forekomme - og da slet ikke ramme Halfdan Rasmussen, der faktisk var en stor og modig forkæmper for folk, frihed og menneskerettigheder og imod censur. Hans vers om Bødlen for eksempel burde være tvungen læsning for alle mennesker i hele verden.
     Og i det tilfælde at du ikke lige kan huske det, vil jeg gengive Elephant's Child's kloge kommentar: "Clothes and people's expectations frequently do chafe. And itch." (tøj og folks forventninger generer ofte - og klør.)

-- 🎂 --

  Today is the 108th birthday of Halfdan Rasmussen. Maybe one of the greatest Danish contemporary poets. MotherOwl holds him in high esteem, and on the occasion of his birthday I will, like at his 105th 106th and 106½th birthdays, publish one of the eight rhymes for children that was censored from the latest collection - and will continue to do so for his next birthday, if I live long enough.
  This censorship grieves me as Halfdan Rasmussen is truly a great fighter for freedom and equality, his pen wrote the Danish verse that was turned into Each Small Candle.
  The words he used, were the at that time neutral demonyms, and the verses should be included, maybe with a footnote or a preamble.

I wrote that I did not want to make an English versification of the poems, as my less than perfect English poetry would make the verses rather pedestrian.  I mourn the fact that I'm not a poetic genius able to render them full justice. His equilibristic verses are serious even at their most playful, and never serious without at least a touch of humour.
  But after seeing what Google translate did to those verses, I am supplying a translation - word for word, or rather meaning for meaning with no pretension of any versification.
  And just in case you can not remember ;) I want to add Elephant's Child's wise comment here: "Clothes and people's expectations frequently do chafe. And itch."

-- 🎂 --

En liste over alle de bortcensurerede vers og hvor de er udgivet.

All the censored verses and from where they come.

1. Lille negerdukke (Børnerim) (2020)
   
2. To små negerdukker (Børnerim) (2021)
   
3. Hittehattehættehuer (Børnerim)
4. Rikke (Børnerim)
5. Negerdukken lille Sam (Børnerim)
6. Sikken et hus (Børnerim)
7. Nogle øjne er så smukke (Halfdans rim)
8. Alle bilerne fra landet (Halfdans rim)

Negerdukken Lille Sam
Negerdukken lille Sam                                    The Negro doll called Little Sam
kan ikke gøre for det.                                       He just can not help it.
Han kan bare ses ved dag.                                He can only be seen in the daylight,
Om natten bliver han borte!                             He disappears at night!

Mors fine dug er hvid.                                      Mamas best tablecloth is white
Jeg syr en skjorte af den.                                  I'll sew a small shirt from it
Så kan Sam få skjorten på                                Then Little Sam can put it on
så han kan ses om natten!                                And be seen by night as well!

Og her er så Lille Sam ved nattetid i sin fine, hvid skjorte.
And here is Little Sam by night in his new, white shirt.

It reminds me of another poem Which I might find and bring later.

Vintersolhverv - Winter Solstice

Jeg ved godt, at der er onsdag. Onsdagsord kommer senere. For i dag er det vintersolhverv!
I dag er dagen 7 timer og 1 minut lang. Solen står op klokken 8:37 og går allereden ned igen klokken 15:39. Det er herligt, at vide, at dagene bliver længere fra i dag, selvom vi altså ikke kan se det endnu. Eftersom dette er skrevet inden solopgang, er billedet fra i går - jeg tænker ikke, i dag bliver mere opløftende. 

~ ~ ~  ~

I know it's Wednesday. But Words for Wednesday will just have to wait, for today is winter solstice! Today our day is at its shortest. We have 7 hours and 1 minute of daylight - The sun rises at 8:37 and sets again at 15:39. It is dark, wet and dreary. I am happy that the days are getting longer from today, even if we cannot see it for some time to come yet. As it's still before sunrise, the photo is from yesterday. I think today will look much the same.

Billedet er taget kl. 11.14 Al den dejlige sne er smeltet 
~
Photo taken at 11.14. All the wonderful snow has melted.

Digtet her er en reprise. Jeg bragte det første gang den 18. januar 2021. Dengang lovede jeg at fortælle, hvis jeg fandt Pixibogsudgaven. Det glemte jeg vist, for jeg kan ikke finde noget som helst. Jeg fik altså oversættelsen fra Pixibogen med god hjælp. Her er så en sammenligning. I al ubeskedenhed kan jeg altså bedst lide min egen oversættelse!

~ ~ ~ ~

This poem has been published once before  January, 18, 2021, with the promise of a follow up and a  comparison when I found the original Danish translation. Well I did find it - with some help from nice people! - some time ago even, but it seems I forgot to post about it. Here it is. The original poem, the old Danish translation, and mine. I am brash enough to say that I like mine the best

Winter-Time   Late lies the wintry sun a-bed, A frosty, fiery sleepy-head; Blinks but an hour or two; and then, A blood-red orange, sets again.   Before the stars have left the skies, At morning in the dark I rise; And shivering in my nakedness, By the cold candle, bathe and dress.   Close by the jolly fire I sit To warm my frozen bones a bit; Or with a reindeer-sled, explore The colder countries round the door.   When to go out, my nurse doth wrap Me in my comforter and cap; The cold wind burns my face, and blows Its frosty pepper up my nose.   Black are my steps on silver sod; Thick blows my frosty breath abroad; And tree and house, and hill and lake, Are frosted like a wedding-cake.   by Robert Louis Stevenson 1913

Det er vinter   Først sent står vintersolen op, en rød og frossen dovenkrop, den blinker svagt en times tid og gemmer sig så under dynen hvid   Før stjernerne himlen har forladt, og det er mørkt, som var det nat vågner jeg op og klæder mig på og ryster af kulde fra top til tå.   Jeg sætter mig med min mælkekop ved ilden og varmer min frosne krop; drager derefter med rensdyrslæde, vinterfrakke og halstørklæde   ud i den øde vildmark på togt, studerer hver bakke, hver dal, hver slugt. Isvinden bider i mine kinder Rødt min næse af kulde skinner.   Mine spor i den hvide jord er sorte, mine spor i den hvide sne er korte, Og træer og bakker og huse og tage er hvidfrosne som en bryllupskage.   Erik Thygesen, 1967

Vinterdag   Først sent står vintersolen op, en gyldenhåret dovenkrop, der skinner et par timer kun for at forsætte så sit blund   Og førend stjernen går sin vej, før morgengryet, vågner jeg Og frysende, på bare tæer klæder jeg mig på ved lampeskær   Jeg sidder tæt på ilden tit tør mine frosne lemmer lidt. Så i en rensdyrslæde går det rundt i verden udenfor.   Før jeg går ud, bli'r jeg klædt på får vanter, jakke, hue på. Og vinden svider snart min kind snor sig som rim i næsen ind   Mod sneen hvid står sorte skridt min ånde blæses hid og did. Og træer, huse, hegn og mur ser ud som kager med glasur.   Charlotte Olden Jørgensen, 2021

Poetry Monday :: Girlfriends

Poetry Monday - that's today!  Diane - who has taken over the hosting of  this challenge - and Mimi of Messymimi's Meanderings - who supplies us with many of the topics - are also writing wonderful, funny, thought-provoking, ingenious and honestly well written verse. Go and read them!
  Karen of Baking in a Tornado has joined us in this crazy pursuit, and promises us at least a poem a month!
  SpikesBestMate often publishes a nice verse in the comments.
  Jenny at Procrastinating Donkey who has been a faithful participant, is slowly returning to blogging after her husband's passing from this world. Let's continue to send warm thoughts, good energy, and lots of prayers her way, now that her mum's health is in need of a prayer too. But still we dare hope that she will join Poetry Monday again.

  But  today's theme: Girlfriends? ... No, not going to happen. I don't know why, but all the caboodle with Best Friends Forever and so on scared me at school. Of course I had  friends, not many, but I had them, girl friends and boy friends. But being boys or girls was not what mattered, if you understand ...  Then again I'm not going to opt out of Poetry Monday just because the theme does not speak to me.
  Let's talk a girl's best friend instead. No, not diamonds, dogs or boys. Horses top the list!

En vej går ind i himlen (Min lille hest)                             A road leads into haven (My little Horse)
Tekst/Lyrics: Halfdan Rasmussen,                                                      Melodi/Music: Hanne Passer, 1984

  Bad translation: MotherOwl, 2018-2022

En vej går ind i himlen hvor jeg bor                          A road leads into heaven where I dwell
imellem hvide sky'r og grønne marker.                      Meandering through clouds and grassy meadows
Ved vejen står en lille hest og sparker                        A little horse is waiting in the shadows.
og spiser græs og vokser og blir' stor.                        He eats his grass and everything is well.

Når dagen gryr' og vækker blomst og bi,                 When day is dawning, waking up the bees,
og lyset planter trær' og rosenranker,                       The sunlight planting trees and golden cornstalks.
da står min lille hest med våde flanker,                    The little horse, with dewy hoofs and fetlocks
og vrinsker en godmorgenmelodi.                            Is neighing his good morning to the breeze

Når middagsstunden slår sin vifte ud,                      When midday's sun is burning hot and clear
og solen brænder havren tung og gylden,                 And sunshine makes the oats all ripe and golden,
da går min lille hest i læ bag hylden                         My little horse is hiding in the rowan
og kysser den og mener den er gud.                          He kisses it and thinks it is a dear.

Ved aften blir' den hentet af en dreng,                      When evening comes, a boy comes for the horse
som klapper den på mulen mens han snakker.          He strokes its muzzle gently as they're talking.
Så går de sammen mellem lave bakker,                    Then through the rolling meadows they go walking,
hvor åen nynner som en gylden streng.                    Along the streamlet's humming silver course.

Men kommer natten ridende fra vest                        But when the night comes riding from the West
med dug på koderne og sølvblå tømme,                   With dewy mane and starlit, skyblue stirrups
da går min lille hest herud i drømme,                       My little horse comes riding in the moonlight
og derfor elsker jeg min lille hest.                            And that is why I love my horse the best.



Listen here in Danish - this is the one most like what I remember. The 2 first verses are best:

 - - - - -

Next Monday: Sneak Some Zucchini Onto Your Neighbour's Porch Night

Poetry Monday :: Cats - Halfdan Rasmussen

Ups jeg har taget fejl, Tak til Messymimi for at gøre mig opmærksom på det. Dagens tema er faktisk isbåde eller is-sadwiches. Jeg laver altså ikke om på dette her; ikke mindst fordi jeg aldrig har brudt mig om kikse-ting, hverken som slik eller i is.

--

Oops. Today's theme was not cats, but Icecream sandwiches. Thanks to MessyMimi for telling me.
I am not going to make a new post for several reasons. The last, but not least of these being my intense dislike for everything biscuity in my candy or icecream.

-- 🍦 --

I torsdags fyldte Halfdan Rasmussen 106½ år. Er det nu noget at fejre? Måske ikke, man mandagens stikord er Cats - Katte, og de absolut eneste poetiske katte, der falder mig ind, er Halfdans Katte med kutter fra Halfdans børnerim, 1967.

Sikke et hus!
Mus i mit krus!
Rotter i potter
og katte med kutter
og fem hottentotter
der sidder og prutter!

  Det er et af de censurerede digte, som jeg har lovet mig selv at udgive ét af hvert år på hans  fødselsdag, 29. januar. Men i dag er jeg forkølet, sur og gnaven, og det regner, så og jeg trænger til lidt ordekvilibrisme til at fornøje og varme mig på.
  Han er i min optik en af de bedste, modigste og velskrivende digtere det danske sprog nogensinde har haft. Hvis du har lyst til at se mine gamle indlæg om ham og hans digte, er her et link: Halfdan Rasmussen  Og så skriver jeg nok så kategorisk, at jeg ikke vil oversætte hans digte til engelsk, men jeg har altså gjort det alligevel og vil fortsætte med at gøre det, dels fordi Google oversæt laver et makværk ud af hans ord, og dels fordi jeg skammede mig over at censurere mig selv, for som jeg skrev:

Denne censur gør mig ondt, dels fordi de ord, han brugte, dengang var neutrale ord for folk og folkeslag og det derfor burde være muligt at bringe dem - eventuelt med fodnoter eller et forklarende forord. Dels fordi slags amerikanske tilstande med fornærmelses-parathed og følsomheds-censur på andres vegne ikke burde forekomme - og da slet ikke ramme Halfdan Rasmussen, der faktisk var en stor og modig forkæmper for folk, frihed og menneskerettigheder og imod censur. Hans vers om Bødlen for eksempel burde være tvungen læsning for alle mennesker i hele verden.

-- 😼 --

Last Thursday marked the 106½ anniversary of the birth of Halfdan Rasmussen, my idol wherever poetry, word-smithing and so on is concerned. He was the greatest Dane ever! Maybe a past half years birthday is not a reason to celebrate, But this Monday's topic is Cats, and the absolutely only poetic cats entering my brain are some of his dressed in cowls (remade to hats for reason of rhyme) in the following poem.

Halfdan Rasmussen, børnerim (Rhymes for Children 1967)

Oh what a house!
In my mug there's a mouse!
Rats in pots
And cats in Hats.
And five Hottentots
who are farting a lot!

  This is actually one of his censored poems, I have promised to bring one of  on every birthday of his until I run out of poems. But today I'm having a cold, I'm feeling old and grumpy and it's raining. I need one of his equilibristic, light-hearted, yet serious verses to keep up my spirits.
  If you want to read my old post on this genius, please go here: Halfdan Rasmussen  In these posts, I declare never to translate any of the censored poems: I did so anyway, because I felt ashamed of being afraid!
  I'll cite myself from a birthday post:

  This censorship grieves me as Halfdan Rasmussen is truly a great fighter for freedom and equality, his pen wrote the Danish verse that was turned into Each Small Candle.
  The words he used, were the at that time neutral demonyms, and the verses should be included, maybe with a footnote or a preamble.

Actually I made a second version of this poem. Is it better or worse?

Oh what a house!
In my mug there's a mouse!
Rats in pots
And cats in cowls.
And five Hottentots
who sit and scowl!

Now shoot ◎←←↙

Barka - The Barge - Båden - JPII 101 år

Barka - ulubiona pieśń papieża Jana Pawła II

Pan kiedyś stanął nad brzegiem,
Szukał ludzi gotowych pójść za Nim;
By łowić serca - słów Bożych prawdą.
O Panie, to Ty na mnie spojrzałeś,
Twoje usta dziś wyrzekły me imię.
Swoją barkę pozostawiam na brzegu,
Razem z Tobą nowy zacznę dziś łów.

2. Jestem ubogim człowiekiem,
Moim skarbem są ręce gotowe
Do pracy z Tobą - I czyste serce.

3. Ty, potrzebujesz mych dłoni,
Mego serca młodego zapałem
Mych kropli potu I samotności.

4. Dziś wypłyniemy już razem
Łowić serca na morzach dusz ludzkich
Twej prawdy siecią I słowem życia.

1974 r. ks. Stanisław Szmidt.
Po śmierci Jana Pawła II Biskup Józef Zawitkowski dopisał kolejną zwrotkę "Barki":

5. O Panie, dalszy rejs odwołany
Bo Sternika do Siebie wezwałeś
A nam brak siły, nadzieja zgasła.
      O Chryste, przecież burze szaleją
      Ratuj Barkę, bo bez Ciebie zginiemy
     "Nie lękajcie się, a wypłyńcie na głębię!"
     Cała naprzód, nowy świta już dzień.


Båden (Barka) på dansk.  Johannes Paul IIs yndlingssang

Jesus, da du stod der på stranden,
søgte mennesker, der vil følge med dig,
fiske hjerter med ordets sandhed.
   |: O Herre, det er mig du betragter,
      dine læber kalder stadigt mit navn.
      Jeg forlader straks min båd her på stranden,
     for fra nu af vil jeg fiske for dig. :|

Jeg er kun fattig og ringe.
Mine hænder er alt hvad jeg ejer.
De vil tjene i hjertets renhed.
     O, Herre ...

Tag mine hænder og brug dem,
hjertets iver, min brændende ungdom,
svedens dråber og ensomheden.
     O, Herre ...

Og i dag sejler vi sammen
fisker hjerter i menneskehavet.
Nettets masker er skabt af ordet.
     O, Herre ...

Efter Johanes Paul IIs død skrev biskop Józef Zawitkowski dette vers til "Barka"

Gud, nu er sejlturen aflyst,
Vores Styrmand har Du taget til dig.
Kraften mangler, og håbet slukkes.
     O Kristus, selvom stormene raser,
      red du båden, uden dig går vi under.
     "Frygt blot ikke! Læg nu ud på det dybe!"
     Fuld kraft fremad, dagen gryer påny

Oversættelse Charlotte (Uglemor)

The Barge (Barka) in English. It was Pope John Paul II's favourite song

1.The Lord once stood on the shore
He sought people ready to follow Him
And become fishers of men through God’s words of truth.
     Ref.: O Lord, this is You who have found me
     From your lips I could hear my name.
     And my boat I do leave on the shore now,
     Since today I'll be fishing with you.

2. I live the life of the poor man
All I have is my hands so ready
To do work with you with all strength of my pure heart.
     O, Lord ...

3. You need my hands for service
my young heart full of enthusiasm,
My sweat while working, my solitude.
     O Lord ...

4. Today we’ll be off together
Fishing hearts in the sea of the souls
With the net of your truth and the word of real life.
     O Lord ...

After the death of John Paul II the bishop of Łowicz, Józef Zawitkowski, added this verse to Barka:

O Lord, the voyage is cancelled
You have called our helmsman to you.
We lack strength, our hopes are extinguished.
     O Christ, see the seas are raging
     Save the barge because without You we're lost.
     “Do not be afraid! Put out into the deep!”
     Full speed ahead, day is dawning anew.

Translation from www.nuty.religijne.org, the last verse by MotherOwl. The original Spanish version was written in 1974 by Cesáreo Gabaráin.

Ⓐ - Ⓩ Danish Letters - Å - Åh anemoner

    Hver dag i april kommer der et A-Z indlæg klokken 12. Temaet er ekkoer, de løse ender, halve projekter, nye begyndelser, gyldne løfter og lokkende udsigter. Men jeg ville ikke være Uglemor, hvis ikke der sneg sig nye projekter og ideer ind i denne omgang A-Z også.
     Og så bruger jeg lige som for to år siden Æ, Ø og Å i stedet for de halvumulige W, X Y og Z

Ⓐ - Ⓩ

Every day in April a new A-Z post goes live at noon. The theme is Echoes, finishing touches, half done projects and endings. But I would not be MotherOwl if these posts would not contain more than a fair share of new beginnings and plans.
Just as two years ago I'm using the letters Æ, Ø and Å from the Danish alphabet.
  Today is Å the last letter of the Danish alphabet.

Å for  Åh, anemoner  =  Oh, Anemone (Arctypical Danish spring flower)

Hvert eneste forår overraskes i hvert fald Uglemor over hvor mange anemoner, der kan være i skoven. For tre år siden oversatte jeg Sebastians Anemonesang. Og den har jeg lyst til at bringe igen.   Oprindeligt anemoneindlæg.

-- 🌳 --

Each and every spring MotherOwl is amazed by the sheer amount of anemone flowers in our woods. Three years ago I translated a Song of Anemone (Listen on YouTube: earworm) by a Danish composer, Sebastian. Now it's once again echoing inside my head, and I want to share it with you.

Her er vi tæt på en lille klat anemoner  --  A close up of a tiny amount of all the pretty flowers.

Anemonesangen
Dagen er så fuld af anemoner 
fuglefløjt og farvespil i lyse kroner 
Natten fuld af farlige dæmoner
Spøgefugle, troldemænd og heksekoner.
    Åh anemoner dækker hele jorden lige som sne
    Åh anemoner, snart får jeg vel sommeren at se.

Dagen er så travl for de forfløjne
alle de forpjuskede og næsten nøgne .
Natten er så fuld af gule øjne
der i mørket, der på himlen, alle vegne .
    Åh  anemoner lad mig sove i den hvide seng.
    Åh, anemoner under stjerner i en blomstereng.

(Mellemspil)

Åh anemoner dækker hele jorden ligesom sne.
Åh anemoner Snart får vi vel sommeren at se.

Tekst & musik: Sebastian, 1991

-- Ⓐ - Ⓩ --

Song about Anemone
Daytime woods are filled with pretty flowers
Flimsy branches, rays of sunshine colour laden.
 Nighttime woods are filled with demon powers,
Mocking spirits, hinkypunks and elven maiden.
Oh pretty flowers! Covering the meadow just like snow
Oh pretty flowers! Summer, hurry up, we miss you now.

Busy is the daytime for the wayward
ruffled feathers flying; drifting slowly downwards.
In the night the watching eyes are glaring
In the darkness, in the sky. Oh they are staring!
Oh pretty flowers; sleeping in the meadow white as snow
Oh pretty flowers! Let me slumber in your starlit glow.

(Instrumental)
Oh pretty flowers! Covering the meadow just like snow
Oh pretty flowers! Summer, hurry up, we miss you now.

Translation: MotherOwl 20018

Her er blomstersengen  --  And here the meadow white as snow.

Halfdans forbudte digte 29/1 2021

I dag er det Halfdan Rasmussens 106 års fødselsdag. Lige som sidste år bringer Uglemor et af de otte børnerim, der er blevet bortcensurerede i den nyeste udgave af hans samlede værker. Jeg vil gentage dette på de næste 6 fødselsdage hvis jeg lever så længe.
     Denne censur gør mig ondt, dels fordi de ord, han brugte, dengang var neutrale ord for folk og folkeslag og det derfor burde være muligt at bringe dem - eventuelt med fodnoter eller et forklarende forord. Dels fordi slags amerikanske tilstande med fornærmelses-parathed og følsomheds-censur på andres vegne ikke burde forekomme - og da slet ikke ramme Halfdan Rasmussen, der faktisk var en stor og modig forkæmper for folk, frihed og menneskerettigheder og imod censur. Hans vers om Bødlen for eksempel burde være tvungen læsning for alle mennesker i hele verden.
     Og i det tilfælde att du ikke læser kommentarerne, vil jeg lige gengive Elephant's Child's kloge kommentar: "Clothes and people's expectations frequently do chafe. And itch." (tøj og folks forventninger generer ofte - og klør.)

-- 🎂 --

  Today is the 106th birthday of Halfdan Rasmussen. Maybe one of the greatest Danish contemporary poets. MotherOwl holds him in high esteem, and on the occasion of his birthday I will, like last year, publish one of the eight rhymes for children that was censored from the latest collection - and will continue to do so for his next six birthday, if I live long enough.
  This censorship grieves me as Halfdan Rasmussen is truly a great fighter for freedom and equality, his pen wrote the Danish verse that was turned into Each Small Candle.
  The words he used, were the at that time neutral demonyms, and the verses should be included, maybe with a footnote or a preamble.

   There won't be an English versification of the poems, as my less than perfect English poetry made the verses rather pedestrian.  I mourn the fact that I'm not a poetic genius able to render them full justice. His equilibristic verses are serious even at their most playful, and never serious without at least a touch of humour.
  But after seeing what Google translate did to those verses, I am supplying a translation - word for word, or rather meaning for meaning with no pretension of any versification. Last year's poem will be updated in the same way.
  And just in case you do not read the comments I want to insert Elephant's Child's wise connet here: "Clothes and people's expectations frequently do chafe. And itch."

-- 🎂 --

En liste over alle de bortcensurerede vers og hvor de er udgivet. Jeg begyndte med nummer 1 sidste år, og fortsætter med nummer 2 i år.

All the censored verses and from where they come. I began with number one last year, and will just tacle then one at a time.

1. Lille negerdukke (Børnerim) (2020)
   
2. To små negerdukker (Børnerim) (2021)
   
3. Hittehattehættehuer (Børnerim)
4. Rikke (Børnerim)
5. Negerdukken lille Sam (Børnerim)
6. Sikken et hus (Børnerim)
7. Nogle øjne er så smukke (Halfdans rim)
8. Alle bilerne fra landet (Halfdans rim)

To små negerdukker
To små søde negerdukker                  Two cute little Negro dolls
gik i byen efter sukker,                       Went to town to buy some sugar
men da de var splitternøgne                But as they were stark naked
gjorde godtfolk store øjne.                 Goodly people were gawping.

På et torv med flotte huse                 In a square with pretty houses
Købte de sig hver en bluse                each of them bought a blouse
For at prøve på at dække                   trying to cover up                                                                   
Det som var så kønt hos begge.         what was pretty in them both.

Bluser er så tit så korte.                    Blouses are often very short
Og skønt numserne var sorte            and even though the bums were black
stirred folk så uanstændigt                people stared without decency
at det føltes næsten skændigt.           it was almost shameful

To små søde negerdukker                 Two cute little Negro dolls 
skyndte sig at købe sukker,               hurried up and bought the sugar
og hos frøken Tummelumsen            and at Mrs. Tummelumsen's*
fik de sko og skørt om numsen.        they got shoes and a shirt around their bums.

Tøj er varmt og sko kan klemme,     Clothes are hot, and shoes can pinch,
så da de igen var hjemme                 when they reached their home again
smed de tøjet over stolen                   they threw their clothes upon a chair
og løb nøgne ud i solen.                    and ran naked into the sun.

                                                                                

* Name from a book (Livsens Ondskab by Gustav Wied). The name sounds funny and like Mrs. Dizzy