the castle

Gustaf Munch-Petersen: The Lowest Country

you my little girl –,

you are the mute country itself –,

where the roads, which have no name,

lead rows of beasts

through days upwards

with covered burdens to the castle –


and way way down

a giant giant mile-wide plain

with prides of munching gloss-hooved bisons –

munching – chewing –

changing leg – and the sun calmly bakes –

plain and plain and bisons –

and flat sun –

the grass tickles the belly of the wind –

the bisons chew –


but innermost –!

high high up narrow paths –,

in the mute country –

o who has seen the castle –?