fostergræs / foetal grass

I'm getting close to completing the Duolingo Swedish course, and I guess I might move on to Spanish but I've also had the passing thought of trying another Nordic language, Norwegian or Danish. 

Anyway it was this passing thought that brought me to a poem by the Danish poet Olga Ravn (b. 1986), found on the excellent Lyrikline site (where you can hear her reading it): https://www.lyrikline.org/en/poems/dk-olga-ravn-7771 . I'm interleaving Martin Aitken's English translation. 

DK – Olga Ravn  / Denmark - translation by Martin Aitken

Åbent: hvilken kirurg, der tipper vores skål, et spejl som forsvar mod Medusa,

hvem skal nu nære sig ved hendes bryster, din smukke, din grimme mund,

  To be determined: what surgeon tips our bowl, a mirror to protect against Medusa,

  who shall now be nourished at her breasts, your beautiful, your ugly mouth,

som jeg nærer den slange, der er mine gule, mine bløde sweatshirts, min creme,

den kolde creme, jeg smører ud over ansigtet, det samme trættende ansvar ved at elske.

  as I nourish the serpent of my yellow, my soft sweatshirts, my lotion

  the cold lotion I smear across my face, the same tiring responsibility of love.

Mit ansigt er fyldt med pornofilm, forbrugsgoder, blå blomster der forsvinder i mælk,

mit fædreland, fostergræs, mit modersmål, min tunge er tung af kød,

jeg bærer mine forældres mærke som en kønssygdom fra den elskede.

  My face is filled with porn, consumer goods, blue flowers that vanish in milk,

  my fatherland, foetal grass, my mother tongue, my tongue is heavy with flesh,

  I carry the mark of my parents like a venereal disease from a lover.

Hvidklædt hvidklædt, hjertets fitness, en lille grøn sten i det grimme sand ved stranden bag huset,

den velkendte strand, dit ansigt, lukket i søvn, det hedder ikke noget.

  Clad in white, clad in white, the fitness of the heart, a small green stone in the ugly sand

  of the beach behind the house, the familiar beach, your face, closed in sleep, it has no name.

Medusa, jeg ser hendes ansigt i de lakrøde søer, langt væk, belyst af solens første stråler,

af skov og krat og barnets sengetæppe, mønsteret på det ligner en stor hånd,

  Medusa, I see her face in the lacquer-red lakes, distant, lit by the first rays of sun,

  by forest and scrub and the blanket of the child, its pattern resembles a large hand,

tidligt på dagen ligger disen over kysten, senere sender havets store krop sit lys op ad gaderne,

vi har holdt vores vi løst i hænderne, nervøse, vi har gjort hvide indkøb,

  early in the day the mist lies over the shore, later the great body of the sea sends its light up the streets,

  we have held our we loosely in our hands, nervous, we have purchased white groceries,

vi har kølet kinderne mod muren, overophedede turister i kærtegnet, hvide sten,

et enkelt insekt kravler henover, et enkelt klistret bær,

  we have cooled our cheeks against the wall, overheated tourists in the caress, white stones,

  a single insect crawls across, a single sticky berry,

jeg vågner i sommerens klare mund, mine øjne er dækket af dine slimhinder,

morgenen er gammel.

  I wake up in the clear mouth of summer, my eyes are covered by your mucous membranes,

  the morning is old.

Martin Aitken has also translated Olga Ravn's novel De Ansatte (2018) as The Employees (2021).

Reviewed in The Guardian by Justine Jordan: https://www.theguardian.com/books/2021/may/12/the-employees-a-workplace-novel-of-the-22nd-century-by-olga-ravn-review-am-i-human

A sampler of The Employees: https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5e3944e85771557f6f2a42f6/t/5f55e7e8020c314b1fe716a4/1599465450160/Extract+from+The+Employees+1-23.pdf

Here's a couple of extracts from it:

STATEMENT 004

It’s not hard to clean them. The big one, I think, sends

out a kind of a hum, or is it just something I imagine?

Maybe that’s not what you mean? I’m not sure, but isn’t

it female? The cords are long, spun from blue and silver

fibres. They keep her up with a strap made out of 

calfcoloured leather with prominent white stitching. What

colour is a calf, actually? I’ve never seen one. From her

abdomen runs this long, pink, cord-like thing. What do

you call it? Like the fibrous shoot of a plant. It takes

longer to clean than the others. I normally use a little

brush. One day she’d laid an egg. If I’m allowed to say

something here, I don’t think you should have her hung

up all the time. The egg had cracked when it dropped.

The egg mass was on the floor underneath her and the

thready end of the shoot was stuck in the egg mass. I

ended up removing it. I’ve not told anyone before now.

Maybe that was a mistake. The next day there was a

hum. Louder than that, like an electric rumble. And the

day after that she was quiet. She hasn’t made a sound

since then. Is there some kind of sadness there? I always

use both hands. I couldn’t say if the others have heard

anything or not. Mostly I go there when everyone’s

asleep. It’s no problem keeping the place clean. I’ve

made it into my own little world. I talk to her while she

rests. It might not look like much. There’s only two

rooms. You’d probably say it was a small world, but not if

you have to clean it.

STATEMENT 015

I’m very happy with my add-on. I think you should let

more of us have one. It’s me and it’s not me at the same

time. I’ve had to change completely in order to assimilate 

this new part that you say is also me. Which is flesh

and yet not flesh. When I woke up after the operation I

felt scared, but that soon wore off. Now I’m performing

better than anyone. I’m a very useful tool to the crew. It

gives me a certain position. The only thing I haven’t been

able to get used to yet are the dreams. I dream that

there’s nothing where the add-on is. That the add-on has

detached itself, or perhaps was never a part of me. That

it possesses a deep-seated antipathy towards me. That it

hovers in the air above me and then starts to attack.

When I wake up from one of these dreams, the add-on

aches a bit, and it feels as though I’ve got two: one where

it’s supposed to be, and, floating just above it, another

one that can’t be seen with the naked eye, but which

comes into being in the darkness where I sleep, arising

out of my sleep.

Just a couple of weeks back, The Paris Review published another long piece by Olga Ravn, A Memorial for Those Accused of Witchcraft, translation by Sherilyn Nicolette Hellberg.

https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2022/03/16/a-memorial-for-those-accused-of-witchcraft/

Extract:

Johanne Tommesis, burned, August 24, 1612

Kirstine Lauridsdatter, burned, September 11, 1612

Mette Banghors, burned, December 7, 1612

Volborg Bødkers, escaped and convicted in absentia, June 7, 1613

Annike Christoffersdatter, burned, June 14, 1613

Anne Olufs, burned, June 26, 1613

Karen Eriks, suicide in prison, August 30, 1613

Maren Muremester, burned, 1613

Maren of Ringsbjerg, burned, 1613

Maren Bysvende, suicide in her well after receiving a summons to appear in court, 1613

Kirsten Væverkvinde, burned, 1613

Birgitte Rokkemager, burned, September 18, 1615

Else Holtug, burned, November 6, 1615

Mette Navns, burned, 1615

Johanne Muremester, burned, 1615

Magdalene, Søren Skrædder’s wife, burned, 1615

WHERE: Køge, Denmark

MARCH 3, 2021

All morning, Køge has been shrouded in fog. I took the train here. I’ve walked down Nørregade. All the stores are closed because of the pandemic. Still, a few people are out. It’s about ten o’clock. I haven’t been here since December, the day before everything shut down for the second time. For years now, I’ve been reading and thinking about those accused of witchcraft in Køge. Not with any objective in mind—it’s been a kind of hunger. I want to understand what time is, what four hundred years of time is.

On the side of the house on the corner of Nørregade and the town square is a commemorative plaque: here happened the køge holy terror, 1608–1615. It isn’t a memorial for the burned but for those who burned them. The plaque was put up in 1911 when Køge Museum opened in the building across the street. It was supposed to be a kind of promotion for the museum. The women who were accused of witchcraft and murdered (or committed suicide) aren’t mentioned.

The first time I visited here was August 2019, and everything was on the verge of withering. I was three months pregnant and I came to visit these women’s graves. It was only as I was standing in the town square, the wind rolling against my face and my hair swept up—I could hear the cries of seagulls—that I realized there were no graves because the women had been burned. What did they do with the ashes? The site of the fires is now occupied by Norske Løve, a former hotel; now I think that normal people live there—anyway, there’s a buzzer by the door. 

Since that day, I’ve visited Køge regularly. I go there to approach the ones who are not mentioned by the plaque. I pass by the river that runs through the town like a live wire, crossed by a number of small bridges. I’ve read about so many women in the archives who’ve drowned themselves and their children here. I walk down towards the roundabout, past Blegdammen and to the corner of Kongsberg Allé. Here lies the narrow green corridor, traversed by the stream, where those accused of witchcraft are said to have gathered.

MARCH 6, 1613

There lived in Køge a godforsaken witch by the name of Mette Banghors.

This woman, at the behest of Satan and her companions, went out to the stream located immediately outside of town and conjured the devil with the intention of leading him to the house of Hans Bartskiær.

Then she aimed to conjure him in the likeness of a rat.

Then Satan answered that he wouldn’t rise because, he said, “I have horns and you have none.”

Then the impious witch went and placed a pot on her head, conjured him anew, and said: “Now I have three horns; now, come on up already.”

Then he rose from the stream in the likeness of a rat, and she brought him to the home of the aforementioned man.

This was all confessed by Satan’s prisoner, after which she was burned along with many other witches who were revealed and burned.

A slightly rewritten source from the footnotes of Køge huskors (The Køge Holy Terror) by Johan Brunsmand, with an introduction and notes by Anders Bæksted (Ejnar Munksgaard, 1953).

the four temperaments



Carl Nielsen in 1884, aged 19

[Image source: http://www.carlnielsen.dk/]






Carl Nielsen 1865 - 1931




Carl Nielsen, a native of the island of Funen, came from rural working-class roots; he was the seventh of twelve children (he wrote a well-loved   memoir Min fynske barndom  - "My Funen Childhood").


His most simply irresistible symphony, No 2, was composed in 1901-02. It was titled De fire temperamenter (The Four Temperaments); the four movements of the symphony are respectively choleric, phelgmatic, melancholic and sanguine.




I had the idea for ‘The Four Temperaments’ many years ago at a country inn in Zealand. On the wall of the room where I was drinking a glass of beer with my wife and some friends hung an extremely comical coloured picture, divided into four sections in which ‘the Temperaments’ were represented and furnished with titles: ‘The Choleric’, ‘The Sanguine’, ‘The Melancholic’ and ‘The Phlegmatic’. The Choleric was on horseback. He had a long sword in his hand, which he was wielding fiercely in thin air; his eyes were bulging out of his head, his hair streamed wildly around his face, which was so distorted by rage and diabolical hate that I could not help bursting out laughing. The other three pictures were in the same style, and my friends and I were heartily amused by the naivety of the pictures, their exaggerated expression and their comic earnestness. But how strangely things can sometimes turn out! I, who had laughed aloud and mockingly at these pictures, returned constantly to them in my thoughts, and one fine day I realized that these shoddy pictures still contained a kind of core or idea and – just think! – even a musical undercurrent! Some time later, then, I began to work out the first movement of a symphony, but I had to be careful that it did not fence in the empty air, and I hoped of course that my listeners would not laugh so that the irony of fate would smite my soul. I tried to raise the idea of the pictures to a different plane ...


(Carl Nielsen, from a programme note for a 1931 performance at the Stockholm Konsertföreningen)






I was hoping to find the pub paintings online, but couldn't. Perhaps they have been long destroyed, or perhaps the exact location of the pub is not even known.






http://davidnice.blogspot.com/2015/06/tillykke-med-fdselsdagen-carl.html

[Image source: http://carlnielsen.org/en/man-myth-and-music.  These (and other) grimasses are now in the Royal Library of Copenhagen. They were taken at a studio in Odense in the mid-1880s when Nielsen was about 20.  They were connected with playing all the parts in an entertainment for a girlfriend.  Nielsen's good looks got him into trouble; he already had an illegitimate child before his marriage; he was later a fond husband but not a faithful one.]





Carl Nielsen in 1908, aged 43

[Image source: http://nocturna-artificialia.blogspot.com/2015/06/carl-nielsens-150th-birthday.html]




Continuing with Nielsen's 1931 Note:


 .....    and now – since that is what is wanted – I will give a modest explanation of my Symphony No. 2, ‘The Four Temperaments’, op. 16.


The first movement, Allegro collerico, immediately sets in fiercely with the following motif (see No. 1), which is developed with a later small motif (No. 2) in the clarinet, and rises to a fanfare that leads into the second subject (No. 3), which sings very espressivo but is soon interrupted again by extremely turbulent figures and rhythmic thrusts. After a fermata the second subject sings ƒ and expresses itself with greater breadth and power, which gradually wanes, then the modulation section begins, working with the motifs described above, now wildly and violently, like a person almost carried away, now in a gentler mood like one who regrets his irascibility. At the end comes a coda (stretto) with intense passages in the strings, and the movement ends with the same character as it began.


The second movement was conceived as the complete opposite of the first. I do not like programme music, but it may still interest my listeners that when I was working out this piece of music, something like this happened: A young man appeared to me. He seems to have been his mother’s only son. The mother was nice and amiable, she was a widow and she loved him. He too was extraordinarily nice, and everyone liked him. He was 17‑18 years old, his eyes were sky‑blue, confident and large. At school he was loved by all, but the teachers were at the same time dismayed and gently resigned; for he had never learned his lessons; but it was impossible to scold him, for everything that exists of idyll and Paradise in nature was reflected in this young man, so one was completely disarmed. Was he merry or serious, was he lively or slow in his movements? He was none of these! His inmost nature was there where the birds sing, where the fish glide silently through the water, where the sun warms and the wind gently brushes ones locks. He was blond; his expression could be described as happy, but not self‑satisfied, rather with a small touch of quiet melancholy, so you felt an urge to be kind to him. When the air shimmered in the heat he usually lay on the pier at the harbour with his legs out over the edge. I have never seen him dance; he was too inactive for that, but he might well rock his hips in a slow waltz rhythm (No. 4) and it is in this character that I have completed the movement Allegro comodo è flemmatico and tried to maintain a state of mind that is as far from energy, ‘Gefühl’ and similar feelings as is really possible.


Only once does it rise to an f (No. 5). What happened? Did a barrel fall in the water from one of the ships in the harbour and disturb the young man as he lay dreaming on the jetty? Who knows? But no matter: a brief moment, and all is calm; the young man falls asleep, nature dozes, and the water is again as smooth as a large mirror (No. 6).


The third movement attempts to express the basic character of a grave, melancholy person, but here as always in the world of music, a title or a programme is only a hint. What the composer wants is less significant than what the music, on its own terms, from its inmost being, demands and requires.
After one and a half bars of introduction the following theme begins (No. 7) and is drawn heavily towards an intense burst of pain ( ƒ ); then the oboe enters with a small, plangent, sighing motif (No. 8) which gradually develops into something immense and ends in a climax of woe and pain. After a short transitional passage comes a milder, resigned episode in E flat major (No. 9). A long, rather static thematic development now follows, and finally the parts enmesh like the strings of a net, and everything fades out; then the first theme suddenly breaks out again in full force, and now all the different motifs sing with interruptions, and the end approaches, falling calm with the following motif (No. 10).


In the finale, Allegro sanguineo, I have tried to evoke the basic character of a person who storms thoughtlessly on in the belief that the whole world belongs to him and that roast pigeons fly into his mouth without work and care (No. 11). There is however a brief minute when he becomes afraid of something, and he gasps for breath for a moment in violent syncopations (No. 12); but this is soon forgotten, and although the music now goes into a minor key, his happy, rather shallow nature is still manifested (No. 13).


Just once, though, it seems that he has encountered something really serious; at least he meditates over something that is alien to his own nature (No. 14), and it seems to affect him, so that while the final march may be happy and bright, it is still more dignified and not as silly and smug as some of his previous bursts of activity (No. 15).”




(Sourced from https://www.dacapo-records.dk/udgivelser/nielsen-the-masterworks-vol-1-orkestermusik)


Danish extracts of these texts, taken from various sources :


(the Zealand pub paintings)


Anledningen fik jeg […] i en Landsbykro på Sjælland. Der hang på Væggen et højst komisk koloreret Billede, som var inddelt i fire Felter, hvori ”Temperamenterne” var fremstillet og forsynet med Titler: ”Den Koleriske”, ”Den Flegmatiske”, ”Den Melankolske” og ”Den Sangvinske”. [...] En skønne Dag gik det op for mig, at disse tarvelige Billeder dog indeholdt en slags Kerne eller Idé og – ja tænk – oven i købet en musikalsk Undergrund



(1st movement)




… arbejdes snart vildt og heftigt, som et Menneske, der næsten forløber sig, snart i en blidere Stemning, som én, der fortryder sin Opfarenhed.





(2nd movement)


(modernized Danish)





...Jegholder ikke af programmusik, men det kan måske alligevelinteressere mine tilhørere, at jeg under udarbejdelsen af dettemusikstykke oplevede omtrent følgende: En ung mand viste sig formig. Han var vist sin moders eneste søn. Moderen var sød ogelskværdig, hun var enke og hun elskede ham. Han var ogsåualmindelig sød og alle mennesker holdt af ham. Han var 17-18 år,hans øjne var himmelblå, trygge og store. I skolen var han elsketaf alle, men lærerne var samtidig fortvivlede og mildt opgivende;han kunne nemlig aldrig sine lektier, men det var umuligt at skændepå ham, thi alt hvad der findes af idyl og paradis i naturenafspejlede sig i dette unge menneske, så man var fuldkommenafvæbnet. Var han lystig eller alvorlig, var han livlig ellerlangsom i sine bevægelser? Ingen af delene! Hans grundvæsen lå der,hvor fuglene synger, hvor fiskene glider lydløst igennem vandet,hvor solen varmer og vinden stryger mildt omkring ens lokker. Hanvar blond; hans udtryk var nærmest lykkeligt, men ikkeselvtilfreds, snarere med et lille drag af stille melankoli, så manfølte trang til at være god imod ham. Når luften dirrede af varme,lå han i reglen på molen ved havnen med benene ud over bolværket.Jeg har aldrig set ham danse, dertil var han for uvirksom, men hankunde godt finde på at gynge i hofterne i langsom valserytme og idenne karakter har jeg gennemført satsen: Allegro comodo èflemmatico og forsøgt at fastholde en stemningstilstand der liggerså langt borte fra energi, ”Gefühl” og lignende rørelser som velmuligt.


Kun en eneste gang kommer det til et f. Hvadskete der? Faldt der en tønde i vandet fra et af skibene i havnenog forstyrrede den unge mand, som ligger og drømmer på molen? Hvemved det? Men lige meget: Et kort minut så er alt roligt; den ungemand sover ind, naturen blunder og vandet er atter blankt som etstort spejl.




(original Danish)




paa Molen ved Havnen med Benene ud over Bolværket. en Stemningstilstand der ligger saa langt borte fra Energi, ”Gefühl" og lignende Rørelser som vel muligt. Kun en eneste Gang kommer det til et stort f [forte]. Hvad skete der? Faldt der en Tønde i Vandet, og forstyrrede den unge Mand? Hvem ved det? Men lige meget: Et kort Minut, saa er alt roligt...



(3rd movement)




forsøger at udtrykke et tungt og melankolsk Menneskes Grundkarakter



(Finale)





I Finalen har jeg forsøgt at skildre Grundkarakteren af et Menneske, der stormer tankeløst frem i den Tro, at hele Verden tilhører ham, og at stegte Duer flyver ham ind i Munden uden Arbejde og Omtanke. ...


En eneste Gang synes detalligevel, som om der er mødt ham noget virkelig alvorligt; i hvert fald mediterer han over et eller andet, som ligger hans Natur fjernt, og det synes at paavirke ham, saaledes at Slutningsmarchen vel nok er glad og lys, men dog værdigere og ikke saa fjollet og selvtilfreds som i nogle af de forrige Afsnit af hans Udfoldelse

Carl Nielsen in 1931, from a portrait by Sigurd Swane

[Image source: https://www.npr.org/sections/deceptivecadence/2014/10/23/358308335/great-danes-three-symphonic-albums-by-danish-composers]






Complete performance of Symphony No. 2, by the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra conducted by Herbert Blomstedt  (No video)















Complete concert performance (with video) by the Estonian Festival Orchestra under Paavo Järvi:

Carl Nielsen's childhood home at Sortelung, near Nørre Lyndelse on Funen

[Image source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sortelung]