Sea of Freedoms
Sunset at Cape May, New Jersey (taken by yours truly)
I was delighted to notice a reference to Knut Hamsun in today’s song — a recent one by Агирре, which appears to be a side project of the band Перемотка, whom I’ll feature soon (can’t seem to find this out for sure!). If anyone hasn’t read Hamsun, do yourself a favor. I’m not one to gush about literary “style” (I could launch off into quite a tirade on this point, but I’ll control myself), but to me Hamsun is the consummate stylist in every way that matters… his prose reads like pure poetry and is brimming with observation of both the natural world and human psychology, not to mention spiritual thirst (or should I say hunger?). I should note that I read Norwegian, so I’m not commenting on translations. My favorite book of his is Pan, which he conceived as a kind of prose poem. Mysteries is also good. But he made his name with the work referenced in today’s song — Hunger — a largely autobiographical account of a young, starving artist and his misadventures in Oslo (then Christiania). At the end of the book he leaves on a ship, as referenced in the song.
Scandinavian languages are a bit of a hobby of mine. I listen to a lot of Scandinavian podcasts (including this Swedish one — Philosophy Room). The public radio networks in these countries have outstanding programming, available now by podcast — this alone is a good reason to study one of these languages (which aren’t too difficult, of course). Speaking of Norwegian poetry, I heard this one read on a now-defunct Norwegian poetry podcast; it really stuck with me. Why not share it…
Jeg Ser by Sigbjørn Obstfelder (1893)
Jeg ser på den hvide himmel,
jeg ser på de gråblå skyer,
jeg ser på den blodige sol.
Dette er altså verden.
Dette er altså klodernes hjem.
En regndråbe!
Jeg ser på de høie huse,
jeg ser på de tusende vinduer,
jeg ser på det fjerne kirketårn.
Dette er altså jorden.
Dette er altså menneskenes hjem.
De gråblå skyer samler sig. Solen blev borte.
Jeg ser på de velklædte herrer,
jeg ser på de smilende damer,
jeg ser på de ludende heste.
Hvor de gråblå skyer blir tunge.
Jeg ser, jeg ser…
Jeg er vist kommet på en feil klode!
Her er så underligt…
I See
I see the white sky,
I see the gray-blue clouds,
I see the blood-red sun.
So, this is the world.
So, this is the planets’ home.
A raindrop!
I see the high buildings,
I see the thousands of windows,
I see the distant church tower.
So, this is earth.
So, this is mankind’s home.
The gray-blue clouds gather. The sun is gone.
I see the well-dressed men,
I see the smiling women,
I see the stooping horses.
How heavy the gray-blue clouds become.
I see, I see…
Surely I have come to the wrong planet!
It is so strange here…
This, in turn (specifically this question of which world we live in), reminds me of one by a fantastic Polish poet, Wisława Szymborska. I’ll have to feature her one day in the poetry blog. I believe this is my translation here (I honestly don’t remember!).
Wielkie to szczęście
Wielkie to szczęście
nie wiedzieć dokładnie
na jakim świecie się żyje.
Trzeba by było
istnieć bardzo długo,
stanowczo dłużej
niż istnieje on.
Choćby dla porównania
poznać inne światy.
Unieść się ponad ciało
które niczego tak dobrze nie umie,
jak ograniczać
i stwarzać trudności.
Dla dobra badań,
jasności obrazu
i ostatecznych wniosków
wzbić się ponad czas,
w którym to wszystko pędzi i wiruje.
Z tej perspektywy
żegnajcie na zawsze
szczegóły i epizody.
Liczenie dni tygodnia,
musiałoby się wydać
czynnością bez sensu,
wrzucenie listu do skrzynki
wybrykiem głupiej młodości
napis "Nie deptać trawy"
napisem szalonym.
How fortunate we are / It is a great joy
How fortunate we are
not to know precisely
what kind of world we’re living in.
One would have to
exist for a very long time,
much longer, certainly,
than the world itself exists.
If only for comparison,
come to know other worlds.
To soar above our body,
whose greatest skill
is to delimit
and complicate.
For the sake of research,
in order to see things clearly,
and arrive at final conclusions,
we’d have to rise above time,
in which all things rush and swirl.
From that perspective —
farewell forever,
details and episodes!
Keeping track of the days of the week
would surely seem
a senseless activity;
tossing a letter in the mailbox —
a silly youthful prank;
a sign “Don’t walk on the grass” —
a sign of insanity.
Anyway, here’s the song. Now go learn Norwegian and read Hamsun.
Sea of Freedoms
Driven into a corner by people’s opinion,
You again seek a way out of your skin.
The warship screams — setting off in the early morning hour.
If only one could step across that heaviest of boundaries.
A desperate step out from under this crushing corpulence;
Your essence begs to be let out of the glass;
Like Hamsun, you’re hungry, and want to sail away.
Into a sea of freedoms.
Into a sea of freedoms.
Into a sea of freedoms.
Into the sea.
I wander around, seeking someone’s life along the pavement,
Someone who’ll call himself a brother or a sister.
A person hangs suspended in thick clouds,
As if not wanting to sea his fear.
I look at my shoes and see an old friend
Tear free from the signposts of his social circle.
Like Hamsun, you’re hungry, and want to sail away
Into a sea of freedoms.
Into a sea of freedoms.
Into a sea of freedoms.
Into the sea.
Море свобод
Загнанный в угол мненьем людей
Опять ищешь выход из кожи своей
Крейсер кричит - отправляется в рань
Преступить бы ту самую тяжелую грань.
Отчаяный шаг из под давлеющей тучностью
Выхода просит из стекла твоя сущность
Словно Гамсун ты голоден и хочешь уплыть.
В море свобод
В море свобод
В море свобод
В море.
Я брожу, ища чью то жизнь по мостовой
Того кто назовет себя братом или сестрой.
Человек зависает в густых облаках.
Словно не хочет видеть свой страх
Я гляжу на башмаки и вижу старого друга
Вырваться из вех социального круга
Словно Гамсун ты голоден и хочешь уплыть
В море свобод
В море свобод
В море свобод
В море.
