Gustaf Munch-Petersen: Naked Human

- the antelope turns its large eyes out in the night

towards the rustling grass of the steppe,

which carefully rises behind the glossy black hooves –

- the eyes turn towards the grass,

where the wind and the moon teasingly build antelope-enemies,

and it flies

with the glossy black hooves pulled up under itself

over 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 steppe

and call the twilight an unconquerable enemy –

- no, like naked hunters

we will use the dark,

when we, on legs, trembling with withheld strength,

sneak over the grass of the steppe

which our feet press to the ground

with long soft steps –


our eyes

are not the large, open bird-eyes of the antelope

which, stifled with fear, dare not look behind –

- our eyes shall be small sharp cuts,

which hide

the treacherous game of the moon in the iris –

- our eyes shall be small and sharp

like knifes, to cut with in the dark and the prey –|


- we know the steppe

and we are not playful boys,

who carefree rock ahead in loose saddles

on small tripping horses –

- we know the steppe,

and we know our prey –

- we know, how we can force

our unbending muscles

that the antelope won’t 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 headwind

only exist,

like our knives,

to satisfy the burning hunger of day –

that the dew only falls,

to cool the hot blood of our women,

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 steps

and cold brains

and quick pulses –

- we do nothing, without knowing the reason,

and we are proud of it,

we are men –