THE COLLECTED POEMS OF HENRIK IBSEN Translated by John ...

145
No, royal Copenhagen, when all’s told,
Monopolises all our importation;
Thus as Madeira’s blended imitation
Becomes fine vintage, barrelled in the hold,
Just so nonentities brought here get sold
Much over-priced because of their migration;
We seat at Art’s high boards those who’d be able
To grace, at best, a Zealand tailor’s table.
Your fault if I now put my guns to use,
And in the host picked off each dreary snuffler,
And blazed away at every worn-out scuffler
That pours you out your Dry Madeira juice.
Cothurnus hasn’t, surely, turned old shuffler,
Ambrosial food to grub a peasant chews,
With that bouquet of comment, hardly handsome,
In Number 3, for choirmaster Hansen?
Well, let that wait its turn to come along; —
I seize this chance of glimpsing through the doorway
The marvel that’s awaiting us in Norway;
That near event lamented in your song.
To pick on individuals would be wrong;
I found my case upon your dirge, sung your way:
This coming age is Ragnarok, you grumble;
It follows, then, Valhalla too must crumble.
For Ragnarok precedes Valhalla’s fall,
We all learnt that from our first kindergarten.
We’ve got Andhrimner, who is still on call,
And no-one doubts his diet can enhearten, —
At least those Thursday bellies, though more Spartan
Than what the old gods ordered in their hall.
There is no lack of heroes; critics strike them,
But don’t quite kill — for still the public like them.
But where is Thor now, yonder with his hammer?
That mighty Thor who cleaves the beetling height
And brings home Freia to the North’s blithe clamour,
Leaving the troll to chew his beard for fright.
And where is Freyr, who can bestrew such glamour
Upon the slopes with birch and rowan bright?
And where is Ydun’s apple? Where, dear fellow!
All I can see’s a pear that’s over-mellow!
No, Ydun’s apple’s gone, that’s the position,
And Balder’s off come April or before,
That’s why the Last Day limps towards fruition
Despite the club- and arrow-wielding war;
Ground arms, stand easy, and escape the chore,
Climb on the table, sewing shrouds your mission;