No--she wrote primarily in Swedish, but there are a couple of poems in Russian and a fair number in German as well. The existing English translations are, hmm, some are better than others, but I've done some. So, hey, have three of her shorter poems:
God is still awake
What ails me? – the pages go to the publisher – everything is done. The moon rises – my longing curls up in bed. – Twisting in bed, my longing laughs infernally: God is still awake – blissful angels, sleepless around his throne!
(1918)
Distinction
Is god a villain?
Does he cast his bravest angel from the sky? No – I say: He gave me honey and wormwood. I poured the bubbling broth over earth. The mold held. He gave me a black-red rose – smallest in the world. It sets me apart from others, visible from afar on my white robe.
(September 1918)
Scherzo
Stars above, clear and true, my heart on earth, the clear and true. Magnificent starry night, we are one. Don’t I sit here, shivering on a tightrope of constellations, as if it could snap?
Time, is that you, sleepy abyss, yawning, mocking me? You endanger the dancer’s feet, aching, her climber’s arms, slackening, recklessly taut strands of pearls.
Time – perish. Every star, twinkling in my face: I’m you! Every star kisses my lips: stay with me! They circle around me, closer, closer, my body in stardust. What do I do in there? Do I cry? The evening dreams. The ocean king drinks, makes a toast from the clam. No one may move. But the dancer rises on her midnight toes kneels and reaches out kissing the fair one.
That does indeed look awesome! It will no doubt provide me with excellent distractions at work this week, which, yay. And it also makes me want to go back and look at the original poetry I wrote the fall after I got back from college. Just because I failed at editing it then and the subsequent three times that I tried doesn't mean I'll fail at editing it now, right?
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Re: enormous poetry geek, hi
Date: 2010-01-10 11:49 pm (UTC)God is still awake
What ails me?
– the pages go to the publisher
– everything is done.
The moon rises – my longing curls up in bed. –
Twisting in bed, my longing
laughs infernally:
God is still awake –
blissful angels, sleepless around his throne!
(1918)
Distinction
Is god a villain?
Does he cast his bravest angel from the sky?
No – I say:
He gave me honey and wormwood.
I poured the bubbling broth over earth.
The mold held.
He gave me a black-red rose –
smallest in the world.
It sets me apart from others,
visible from afar on my white robe.
(September 1918)
Scherzo
Stars above, clear and true, my heart
on earth, the clear and true.
Magnificent starry night, we are one.
Don’t I sit here, shivering on a tightrope of constellations,
as if it could snap?
Time, is that you, sleepy abyss,
yawning, mocking me?
You endanger the dancer’s feet, aching,
her climber’s arms, slackening,
recklessly taut strands of pearls.
Time – perish.
Every star, twinkling in my face: I’m you!
Every star kisses my lips: stay with me!
They circle around me, closer, closer,
my body in stardust.
What do I do in there? Do I cry?
The evening dreams. The ocean king drinks,
makes a toast from the clam.
No one may move. But the dancer rises
on her midnight toes
kneels and reaches out
kissing the fair one.
That does indeed look awesome! It will no doubt provide me with excellent distractions at work this week, which, yay. And it also makes me want to go back and look at the original poetry I wrote the fall after I got back from college. Just because I failed at editing it then and the subsequent three times that I tried doesn't mean I'll fail at editing it now, right?
Man, I love poetry, but it is a bitch sometimes.