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Gustaf Munch-Petersen:

The Naked Human, 1932Translated by K. Llewellyn

Kathleyn Llewellyn / Fjordscene Poetry

23-01-2013

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we legionnaires of nakednesswe will conquer the earthand deliver up the humans to life

perhaps our only triumph shall bethe one,which streams from our oozing wounds perhaps the world shall one day resound withthe stamping of our victorious sandals

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THE MEANING OF LIFE

I do not workwith my hands,not for the betterment of society I waste away the daysby thinking endless thoughts.the days, which passemptywithout result I wander the streetsday after day I look at humans and doubt ------ yet have I not learnt to live.yet have I not learnt to see

the meaning in the meaningless:just life soon I can again work,again tighten musclesagain let thoughts fight. now I know, that I never see the worst,never the last.that everything can be lived,everything must only be understoodto be loved.that all living is good.

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OLD MOTHERS

- heavy, large, swayingwith thin, cold coatsthe mothers rock into the milk sales,the delicatessen shops,the clothing shops - hasty gazes into oilcloth bags,glossy bags with many five rer, (re: the smallest Danish type of coin)two rer,twentyfive rer sighing stares in light porte monnais careful questions:if there wasnt something cheaper,smaller portions, costing less

- heavy, full of stubborn, gnawing thoughts,heavy with lifeless life the mothers rock home home to wet, stained diapers home to long, asking, anxious children-gazes large child-eyes rooms with cold cooking smoke with humid, unmade beds grey tired eyes are forced towards the alarm clock men returning home men with hard work-steps with strong work-hands hard, strong, hungry faces with shy-friendly voices |

hard, greedy eyes glide away disappointedlyfrom hanging arms from limp, hanging breasts the man nervous gazes for money for the last thin shreds of friendly words for rest for the bed nervous gazes (the bed - )already four children

heavy, large, gnawing thoughts heavy, large, swaying mothers

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THE FISHERMEN DANCE AT THE INN

- you can hear it along the streetand down at the quay:for the fishermen dance at the inn

- and lord my god, how they dancelike large petroleum motorsand barrels on their way down the stairs,it is sturdy legs which pound,so the girls sweat with happiness,how strong and handsome he is,and then he gets fish and money.when she carefully presses with her thighshe hears the tinkle of silver,

and a red-bearded, horned hand,it squeezes and pinches and searches and the swarm rolls along the floorand the boards rock like decks

- the violins rub and squeal.the musicians glasses, theyre empty.but the beers bubble and splashand run in brown throatsso the adams apples jumpand the legs tread along the rhythm.for the fishermen dance at the innso the sweat ooze and trickle,and eyes and bodies meet,while the swarm rolls along the floorand the boards rock like decks

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POOR LIFE

there are those,who every night rest at the same branchand only eat out of the right bowl.

there are those,who every morning sing the same songand always to the same beloved,always only to one god.

there are those,who only follow one path over the earth;they fear only one deathand live only one life.

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THE SLEEP

I love you not,but I will come to youone day,when the wind hangs lazily high up above the sun,like a child who has played itself tired

I will come to you on the beach,where the rocks lie like loose hot ashes on the water,and the sea is like a pale green light,which carefully has been poured over the earth

that day you must lie like a wave,out of whose clean foam

life has created your loins

I love you not,but I will come to you that dayand press my burning eyesinto your deep cool lap

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THE CONVERSION

we understood nothing,knew nothing,and we comforted each otherwe doubted together but one daymy world became clear,and my sky light and warm that dayI saw,I heard it,and I understood,why the earth before was grey,and why the sky now was light

but the others,who understood nothing I wanted to save them;but theyshook their heads,and Igot scorn in my voice.

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THE GENUINE

do not believe,that the softly sounding tonesare from the most delicate strings rather believethe sharp and cold tones,when strings are tightened too hard do not believe,that the roaring strokescome from the strongest wings rather believethe forced calmbefore the cliff rattles into the sea.

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BANAL

square womanin a window green rubber apron starry eyeslook down at a little black dogby a lamppost. bare blue armssometimesshe is bentover a white cold glossy bucket she wrings the cloth white foamy soap-watergushes in fine hard jets

out between red fingerslike milk out of a cows udder the cloth is a chemise,the upper half of one. white chemise over white shoulders sky-blue smock she wears. some of the hair has fallen over her brow the windows will soon be glossy;she sees through them.proud then she glides away from the windowin a soft jumpout behind merely a newly polished windowacross the street.

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ANYWAY

I stumbles around in darkness,and I felt cold.

I had beaten the ones,I cared for.

I had stolen from the oneswho wished me well.

I was evil and ugly,and no woman would smile at me.

and I stared at my impure hands

and cried over my wasted life.

but the sunscattered the grime on my face.

and I looked up,and I saw, that I lived.

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OTHER NIGHTS

- we set our nets and hooksin still filmy water we fetched them again in the morning then the water could belike sloping green walls,falling down into dust

- some nights we got a good catch then the nets lookedlike the stomachs of pregnant women like large, glossy chestnuts on a threadthe hooks with fat dangling fish creptslowly out of the water,

which then was still and filmy - other nights we failed the nets

- we set our nets and hooksin the evening in the night we went with moist eyesinto town we were newly washed and in blue clothes there went the young womenwith burning red cheekslike ripen fruits

- in the morningthere were placed outside town,where the grass looked,as if large animals had fought therethat night - other nights we failed the nets

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LISBETH

you are a little horse wagonwith bells on it merrily tripping horse the sun glittersin the red face of the driver,white lilacs happy peoplebabble men and cigars,wives with coffeeand thermos Sunday,naturally

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HUMAN

human whether you are strong, and your voice is heard by many,or you are small and weak,whether you are dumb or clever,what is that compared with all the restin the world nothing the mountains are tall or low,the roses red and good-smelling,but also withered and yellow it is not that butthat you can well in pleasures

and in the midst of the intoxication cry tears,butthat you can sufferand out of your pain sing a tribute to life.

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THE NEW TIME

it is life,where ice-cold downpours whip the earth cleanand free of dirt,where lightnings spread the shady fogs,which cover the old shit, in the dark rooms it is life,when the unhealthy, pale amphibians,which lurk with red eyes,shrink and crackin the suns burning, honest light we hate a life in lavender smellwith gossip mirrors and three pairs of skirts noble lords with whores in the night

and horse hooves in spats we want transparent clarity,we want to see, what there is,for we know,that esprit and ethics and virgin birthis delicacies for castrates we know, that one room is enough for two,petroleum oven and bread with fat,and one bed, if they love each other we know, how eros is,and how she looks under the clothes we know, that the old and musty corpsesstink worsethan those, who have dried in the sun come out, |come out from the warm and sour air,which is full of the smell of stolen meat-bonesand drifting heavywith the spit of whispering lipsor stay in thereand choke yourselvesin your own poisonous breath we will use you,

we will strew you out over our meager earthto fertilize the weak plants and when once our fruits ripen,the air is clean.

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AFTER

- with hard iron-bootsI will stepand turn my iron-heel

- a woman sits cryingon an unmade bed yesterday the sheets were white and smooth,yesterday her child lived

- with hardiron-bootsI will stepand turn my iron-heel,to squash the laughing face

of all the sick hours,who drag themselves along on clattering crutchesafter

- the yellow slimy amphibian,it writhes under my heel,it breeds with a broken back it birthsan endless black row of nightsand screaming stillborn daysafter

- a woman sits crying yesterday her child lived

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EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD

man and woman black square sofawith pale flowers the large lights turned off a faint lamp burnsyellow

they kiss each otherlong they squeeze each otherhard as if there was something,which may not be

her shoulders are bare breatsthrough thin green clothes he touches caressinglythe slip she turns red and serious;how difficult it is to beyoung

may not dare not he kisses long smiles:theres nothing to do about that she sighs

and then there was no more

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IT

not that thought,that I still walk on the path that I still have the safe mountain wallby my side that there grow flowers and that the grass muffles the hardness of the step that the cliff irradiates the heat of the sun butthis, that I know,that I can take a misstep that there is an abyss that I must walk safely,and that the mountain wall by my side

moved closer to the edge, the further I reach that the path gets harder,and the stones sharper that the grass turns yellow,when I approach the sun.

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FOR MY PARENTS

I did not become what you expected I became everything you had feared you let me grow upsustained by your privations.you raised me with hidden tears raised meto live your life continue it shall I say:that is how you lived; you did right so it must be good to live like that.shall I?or shall I kill the hope in you?tell you, that I didnt turn out like you

that my world is a different one than yours,my joy,my pain a different one than yours will you believe my thanks to you?my thanks to life?or will you say:he got everything,he took everything from us,and gives us nothing in return,except sorrow and disappointment.I know, you are right, when you say that.I think, I am right, when I go to my own country.but I go hesitantly I go slowly and heavily but I think, I have to go.

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PROSE

- I think, most people are clever not so happy, but clever and thoughtful

- I seek a friend

- he shall walk hand in hand with me,and he shall say:I know nothing either understand nothing,except that it is beautiful right here and there liesa fallen tree over there I do not know of why know not, whatsomething is, except that it is funny orboring

and he shall say: I think, there is much beautifuland ugly in the world - much else shall he not do

- like that shall we walk with each other hand in hand,while we attempt to look happy,while we show each other the funny, ugly,boringand beautiful in the world

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GREY

the grey iron bed,the faint grey-green lighton the matt grey door to number 14

with fingers in tight yellow-grey skinthe nurse gives me my powder my consciousness flows awayin a heavy, wooly mist

then I hear through the walla sudden moaning cryinglike a scream sunk down into cotton wool,until the overpowering pressure

bursts the dry lips apart

the heavy powder mist sails away,and I hear only this stubborn stuttering crying,sometimes interrupted by a gurgling yell

hard steps roar on the linoleum in the hall the crying stops,like when a switch is flipped off a trembling lump in a grey straightjacketis carried past outside

the powder mist again falls down over my bed,and everything, I know,heaves like a heavy grey blanketon my eyes

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REST

the red suns turn small and distant,desire sinks like a limp rubber-animal glued-together limbs loosenslowly bursting happy smiles with eyes closed timid kisses not as a request,but as: how lovely it was hair is brushed aside the bodies push themselves a little,so that no arms sleepand no breasts are squeezed now I will sleep!me too!

everything runs backwards into nothingnesslike a filament bulb glows, before it is turned off

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THE GREAT MAN

he walks kickingwith giant-stepsand treads so hard on the ground but the grass,it rises up again,where he placed his large foot,and the earth smiles, as if nothing happened,and the flowers think of other things

he walks roaring,with thunder-voice,so that the air trembles and vibrates but the clouds

glide so peacefully by,where the thunder rolled before,and the heaven smiles, as if nothing happened,and the sun thinks of other things

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THE NEW HUMAN

truth sparkling brains the crystal-clear, exposing thoughtskill the stupid and dullwith painful scorn

strength trembling muscles,held tightened by iron-hard will,way ahead of all others hear, the shouting of the mass!

dance

whirling legs with slim necks and hips rhythm, you excite and ease see the smile of eros!

god blinding life you naked and stern but delightful,light through skirts and dirt!you give us everything

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FOR A YOUNG FRIEND

words it is the dummy the baby gets, so it doesnt scream words it is the whore for those, whom nobody loves it is the chair of the old man

do not make crumbs of the fresh bread of life,to be thrown for the ruffled birds of the future bare your teeth and bite into it take large mouthfuls,and thank again

let the hard, salty nails of the sea tear

at your skin,that you may feelthe glowing sun of life

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DEATH

why we live yes it happens, that we are so happy, that we sing perhaps we will be so joyful, so happy,that we will someday quietly walk away,out of anxiety for no longer hearing the youthful laughter of life

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MEN

- the antelope turns its large eyes out in the nighttowards the rustling grass of the steppe,which carefully rises behind the glossy black hooves - the eyes turns towards the grass,where the wind and the moon teasingly build antelope-enemies,and it flieswith the glossy black hooves pull highly up under itselfover the steppe,while the fear, like a spur has attached itself to its white tail

- we will not, like the antelope,listen to the play of the moon-grass with the wind of the steppeand call the twilight an unconquerable enemy

- no, like naked hunterswe will use the dark,when we, on legs, trembling with withheld strength,sneak over the grass of the steppewhich our feet press to the groundwith long soft steps

our eyesare not the large, open bird-eyes of the antelopewhich, stifled with fear, dare not look behind - our eyes shall be small sharp cuts,which hidethe treacherous game of the moon in the iris - our eyes shall be small and sharplike knifes, to cut with in the dark and the prey |

- we know the steppeand we are not playful boys,who carefree rock ahead in loose saddleson small tripping horses - we know the steppe,and we know our prey - we know, how we can force

our unbending musclesthat the antelope wont hear our working pulses

- we are men we know, why the temples pound themselves warm,just before our long knives cut - we are men we know, that the moon, the night and the headwindonly exist,like our knives,to satisfy the burning hunger of day that the dew only falls,to cool the hot blood of our women,

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while our steps sneak across the steppe

this we know,for we are men with furry chests,

blue-shadowed muscles and sharp small eyes,men with inaudible stepsand cold brainsand quick pulses - we do nothing, without knowing the reason,and we are proud of it,we are men

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THE PORT

o, port in your long, patient nightwe come,while our stepszigzagging forgets the seain favour of your streets firm horizon

into your lap we throw,with the proud gesture of the rich,our stingily saved-up longing,the thought joys of our nights

with the gifts of your generous hands

you awakeour, of the beating waves,mercifully dulled thoughts,that we may never forget you

o, port in your lamps overbearing lightswe greet the dayscreaming sleepy hymns in praiseto your fat, calm water

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FOR MY HEAD

I am a child,playing with its toy my toy:a ball with eyes on it

I roll itand throw it to the wall I pat itand throw it into the water

perhaps in the endmy toy was broken but toy

has never lasted so long

perhaps in the endI lost it in the grass I have forgotten,what became of it in the end

perhaps onceIll find it anyway my toy,if it is still complete

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YEARS OF LEARNING

our nightdrowned in the song of wineand the laps of women

we hoped,that the force would come to uslike a stray dogand lay itself at our feet

to some of us came the longing the tore our fates outand tied them like trophies at its belt

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WHY NOT?

why is it notlike a straight and well-kept road,it all?without too much traffic,without too much noise and dirt?why do we not standhigh up,at the one endand see the house, where we are going?without needing to ask,what kind of house it is,were going to,and whether it is beautiful and worth seeking,

and whether it is the right path,were walking on?and why do we not walk in the morningat sunrise,when our limbs are still fresh,and we still believe, that we can reach our home?why not?

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NIGHT

in the night we doubt

small weak humansin large empty houses there is too much space in the night we cannot fill the darknesswith known things

the anxietycreep like ratswith long cold tailsout of black holes anxiety for the nothing,

which we dont know,dont know, is nothing

how small humans arein the night

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FOAM

- bareheaded I fished along the cliffs the sun sprinkled burning needlesinto my naked hair

- when the storm has splintered the wavesagainst the cliffs,the foam lies rockinglike corks on the water,like a running girlsshort warm breath

- bareheaded I fished along the cliffs the heavy breasts of the sea

heaved and sank sleepily I no longer heard the soft rhythm of the foam,didnt see the light foam I saw flesh,I saw white shoulders (the sun burned my hair) blinding white, rocking backs

- my rough, brown handsclosed themselves around the oars,I pressed my foot hard against the thwart the boat was near the cliffs

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BUT I HAVE A BRAIN

- if I had a brain,with a thousand needle-thin threads - if I had a brain,as smooth as a newly peeled egg - but I have a brain,which just barely can glimpsea light on a misty sky too strong after all to sleepin a velvety-soft, waving night too tired to dig itself outthrough the earth-heavy layers of anxiety

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AUTUMN

it rains rains the air is grey and milky,the streets wet and cold,the humans paleand damp like sick birds,I walk and walk,while it just rains,hopelessly the sky hangs like a dark wallbetween us and the sunand the heat.in the housespeople roll down the curtains

and turn on lights in the streetmen turn up their collarsand stand still,so that the clothes doesnt touch the body it is autumn.

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HUMOUR

wanted to go up to the stars on the stars there is light and cool gathered all my strength,and I jumped so that the world sang the stars flew out to greet me on the stars there is light and cool I got up there and saw,that I stood singing on the earth

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SALTWATER

we lived in daysamong soaking wet, whipping sails and black nightsin darkness and pouring water

we wore our hands to boneson stone-hard, biting ropes and the muscles fought in despairwith arms-thick, steel-cold chains then we laid hibernating for an hourlike soaking wet, shivering cloths,dreaming of women and sunshineand forests and peacefully idyll

then we were thrown out by the next onesto the water and the darkness again

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INGA

when I was ten years old,I walked on the beachand tightened my young musclesfor you, inga I waded between stones I carried heavy pointed stonesto your port, inga I with my bare boys feetin the clear seaweed-flowering water and you sat stridingwith large eyes and firm round knees,while I built portfor your ships, inga

do you remember your mothers long shadow on the waterand our red faces,when we were ten years old, inga

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HAPPINESS

- happiness ,says humans eats themselves fulland lay down two and two

- happiness ,they complain and attempt to dream themselves fulland warm

- happiness ,humans rage and the piles of food crawl

from one side to the other

- - -

- goddess give me fight :victory or defeat ,

and perhaps toohappiness

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I BAKE BREAD

I bake large and hard breadsfor humanswith a sharp and acrid taste it is not to make them full it is to make them see,that others toomust force down the sharp mouthfuls,which tear like sand in the bowelsand which the teeth cant crush to make them rejoice in itand get hard jawsto chew with

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PLAN

- I will build myself a house I alone I shall carry the stones myself the sweat must spring like hot springfrom my shoulders the veins must lie like thousand-year-old treeson my brow my house shall be big and tall:bigger and taller than all others

- when it is once finished:heavy and mighty,I will kick away the foundation stone

and let storey after storey come rattling down,roaring like the hollow steps of the glacier

- at the end my laughtershall seat itself like a little naked younglingon top of the smoking piles of graveland laughingly pick its nose

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VERSE

I sang to my beloved:how happy I am!I went and shot myself,in pain and agony she thanked the lord,that I was happy

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CHEER

I had seen so much large and high,that I wanted to run singing through the world,so people should turn aroundand understand, what I knew

and I ran singing and people turned around,but they understood nothing,for there were no words in my song my mouth was filled with cheer

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NOTHING

- I sit reading sometimes I look up my thoughts roll ahead slowly and unwillingly soft likepoison gas, which sucking glides along the earth - I have some little wound an irrelevant little cut, which is felt - some days, sometimes nights as well, I have a so breaker-roaring desire such a hope, which makesall else meaningless - a desire for power.: what I want, becomes so insanely colossal all that, which I may own of life and here I sit reading smoking a cigarette drinking a glass of wine love a woman, whom I dontlove and my wound digs in and opens again as thoughts - thoughts of the same gender, which can nothing birth

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FOR ONE

- you I dare not love your vast softly-embracing lovelies itself like oilon the restless sea of my youth

- while I still intoxicated sleepbetween your rocking limbs,you laughingly emptymy quiver of arrows

- you I will not love I will see the sun through breaking waves to the hard tones from my bow s string

I will go out to hunt life

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GENERATIONS

the words reached outlike willing hands towards us:waitsee, you are young,see your narrow shoulders,your unfinished features see life stands timidlylike a stranger among you hear the quick steps of your thoughts,when they flee each other,and wait do you now let your wordsstorm out over the world,

to disturb the calm of people,tomorrow you will attempt to lure them back in vain

we doubted

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IDEAL

I am only human,but one day I shalltear up the mountains of the earthand let them rattleby the ears of those who sleep I am only human,but one day I shalltake the sun down from heavenand shine into all dark hollowswith white merciless light I am only human,but one day I shallsteal the lightning of the gods

and sweep the earth clean of dust.

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A THANK

dear ,I do not know, if your mind carries hidden wounds,I do not know your light and your dark hours,not your everydays ,

but your smiles

you took my unrest,you gave my searching body rest by you I was returned the power of work ,

and I got your smilesthat night

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MEDICINE

to draw arabesques of wordsis the comfort of lovesick younglings

I will cut stonesand sleep

I make a fist of my hand in my pocketand pushed the hat backwards,

and art is beautiful again

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THE ONLY ONE

- my beloved is beautiful she awakens with her beautythe lurking tiger of my desire,and wipes the foam off its mouthwith the hands of her beauty - my beloved is strong she bathes my wounded limbsin the strong sea of her laughterand breathes her hot smileson my freezing hands - life is my young mistress

- my beloved

she is a young mother,who longingly awaits her child my beloved is a whore proud of her naked body,she scorns the poor desire of the world she has the cool eyes of a nun,her smile is the calm of the cloister garden - life is my young mistress |

- I love an amazon blood is dripping from the hooves of her horse I am her slave,who in snaring reins follow her furious ride I listen with sparkling eyesto her metal-sharp, defiant yells I follow my beloved,until the sun once goes down,shamed by the shineof her cobber-red singing spear

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SPINOZA

on your sharp tubercular facethe calm of wisdom lay in sad smiles

your goodnesswas the helpful humour of your racetrained under the hot caresses of the inquisition

your faithhad the strength of clarityand the mildness of understanding

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FRDING

your quiet laughtermade the gnawing sinsand wasted lives of othersa merry dance on sun-green meadows

I see the despairing fight,which tore your own mind to shreds ,

and I remain silent

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we are human why blame each otherfor being nothing else